The Wolf & The Lioness
by DarkestxHearts
Summary: Davina Baratheon, eldest child of King Robert, believes her life is finally turning out the way she's always dreamed it would. Her father arranges for her to marry Kol Stark, her childhood sweetheart, and agrees to reconsider naming her as his heir instead of her brother ,Joffrey, but all of that changes when she uncovers the dark secret her mother and uncle have been harboring.
1. Truth or Lies

**Title: The Wolf & The Lioness**

 **Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. If I had anything to do with TO, Davina never would've died and she and Kol would be blissfully happy like they are here (at least for the most part).**

 **Genre: Supernatural/Fantasy**

 **Rating: M**

 **Pairings: Kol & Davina, Jaime & Cersei (Canon), Gendry & Arya (Future), Robb & Myrcella (Future)**

 **A/N: So, I started GoT back in October after, finally, getting the okay from my mom, and fell in love with it. Being the massive Kolvina shipper I am, this whole AU storyline sort of manifested itself as I watched the show and the rest is kind of history. Hopefully I'm doing the show justice as well as my all time favorite ship, and I hope you guys like this! Also, the first scene takes place two years before the present setting of the story. Davina is thirteen in the flashback, but fifteen currently. All the events of Robert's Rebellion and the years following have happened and are canon here.**

 **Warning: Mentions of incest. I'm never going to go full blown incest here, even though I do find myself shipping Jaime & Cersei at points, but their relationship is a huge part of Davina's story as well as the main plot, so just be forewarned...it's there.**

* * *

 _ **296 AC**_

 _ **Burn them all!**_

 _Davina bolted upright in her bed, breathing labored and skin slick with sweat. She'd been having the same dream for the past week now, and while it came in flashes and disjointed bursts of ice and fire, the one phrase she could always make out without fail were the Mad King's dying words...or at least, what her Uncle Jaime had told her they'd been._

 _She released a deep breath before raking a hand back through her tangled bronze waves with a sigh, moving to draw her knees up to her chest, went she felt an odd stickiness between her legs. Frowning, she moved to the side a bit, just enough that she saw the dark crimson stain adorning the pristine sheets._

 _The sound of the door swinging open startled her, causing her to practically jump out of her skin as her head swung to the doorway of her chambers. One of her handmaidens - a girl only a few years older than herself - came rushing in with a look of worry plastered across her features. Davina and Myrcella's chambers were adjacent to one another, and their handmaidens often socialized together when they were not needed, so she could easily guess where she'd been._

" _Are you alright, Princess? I heard you scream," she said hurriedly, her tone radiating concern, and Davina realized she must've been fairly loud for the girl to have heard her in Myrcella's chambers._

" _I'm fine, thank you," she said in an attempt to ward off the girl's worry before her mind returned to her stained sheets and what exactly it meant. "Would you mind fetching my mother for me, before you return to watching over my sister?" When the girl looked equal parts confused and terrified, no doubt from the prospect of disturbing the Queen's sleep, Davina simply moved so that the girl could see the proof of her flowering, and a look of understanding crossed the girl's face before nodding and departing with a curtsey._

 _Davina released another deep breath before moving to lay back down, wincing when the action caused a spark of dull pain to ignite in her lower belly. She shifted, attempting to position herself better, only to have the feeling intensify and spread throughout her abdomen, extending to the tips of her fingers. Whimpering and feeling as though she were going to be sick all of the sudden, she bit her lip and curled into a tight ball, hugging her knees to her chest as she tried to manage the pain._

 _She didn't know how long she remained that way, but enough time passed for the handmaiden to return with her mother, who, upon seeing the look of agony spread across her daughter's face, sent the girl away before crossing the room and seating herself on the edge of her bed._

 _Confused and frightened at the immense amount of pain she was experiencing, Davina reached out grasped her mother's hand, her own moist with sweat. Cersei frowned at this before feeling her forehead with the back of her hand._

" _Does this always happen?" Davina asked in a small voice, pressing her hand against her belly and wincing as another sharp pain ripped through her._

" _You've merely flowered, my little lioness," Cersei murmured, tucking a tangled strand of bronze colored waves behind her ear with an encouraging, soft smile. Davina always thought she looked the most beautiful in moments like these when she was away from the King, her father. Those were the moments when she was the most happy. "I'll send for Grand Maester Pycelle and he'll give you milk of the poppy to ease your pains."_

 _She stood and began making her way to the door, wrapping her shawl tighter around herself as she went, when Davina felt an odd sensation that began in her gut and made it's way up her throat. Feeling as though she truly would be sick this time, she shot to her knees in the center of her bed as her throat began to feel tighter, making drawing breath difficult._

 _The sound of her labored breathing stopped Cersei in her tracks, her expression morphing into one of terror as Davina began to cough uncontrollably as she bent forward, using one hand on the bed to support herself while the other held her throat._

" _Davina?"_

 _She tried to answer her, but as soon as she opened her mouth, another coughing fit ensued, and this time, rich granules of dirt flew from her throat, littering the white sheets of her bed. She felt her mother draw her hair away from her face - perhaps the only logical thing she could think of doing - and then the tremors started._

 _The last thing she remembered before losing consciousness was the sensation of the foundations of the Red Keep shaking violently beneath her._

* * *

 _ **298 AC**_

Davina glanced up from her needlework as she and Myrcella's Septa continued to prattle on and on about the importance for young ladies of their station to learn such a skill. Davina had to fight the impulse to roll her eyes at this. She and Myrcella had no use for the art of needlepoint and never would. Their dresses were always handmade by the best dressmakers in all the Seven Kingdoms and would be until the day they were laid to rest in the Great Sept of Baelor.

She looked over to see her golden haired younger sister intently focused on her own embroidery, no doubt ignoring their Septa like she was. She and Myrcella differed on many things, on most actually, but the one thing they agreed on was their general dislike of Septa Eglantine. That, and their fondness of their Uncle Tyrion despite their mother's evident hatred.

Her eyes then shifted to the window, and upon seeing the Sun's position in the sky, she quickly began devising a way to escape her Septa and her needlepoint lesson in favor of sparring with her Uncle Jaime. He'd said just this morning to meet him in their usual spot deep in the gardens when the Sun was at it's highest point.

Since her fifth nameday, Jaime had been training her in the art of swordsmanship and combat, per her begging and pleading. He'd resisted for a little while, telling her that her mother wouldn't be pleased if she found out, but Davina had been a stubborn child who'd already wormed her way into her uncle's heart. In the end, all she'd had to do was fix him with her emerald colored eyes, so similar to his, and he'd given in.

He'd been instructing and tutoring her ever since.

He often told her now that soon there would be nothing else he could teach her, for she was almost as formidable with a sword as he was now, and about as proficient as he'd been at fifteen. Sometimes, which seemed to occur with increasing frequency now, she was able to best him at least once a lesson. Whether it was a genuine defeat, however, she couldn't tell. She suspected that he was letting her win, despite his swearing that her skills equaled and at points even surpassed his.

"You are nearing your sixteenth nameday, Princess," her Septa said, causing Davina to look away from the window and fix her with a barely concealed glare. "Soon, your father shall marry you off to some lucky young lord and you will begin a beautiful family of your very own." Davina had to bite her tongue to avoid spewing her disapproval of the idea.

Upon her birth, her father, Robert Baratheon, King of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, had resisted immediately betrothing her to one of his liege lords' or any nobleman's son, declaring instead that she'd marry by her sixteenth nameday to the man of his choosing. Why he'd chosen to wait, ignoring the proposals of so many and angering a good number of Westerosi nobles in the process, she'd never truly know, but she was grateful for it.

There was only one man in all the Seven Kingdoms she wanted, and she'd have him...she just had to convince her father of it first. Either persuade him or allow him to think it was his idea.

"That it still several moons away," she said in dismissal, with a polite, seemingly innocent smile that fooled the old woman far too easily. She nodded.

"Tis true, Your Grace...but, you will be the most beautiful bride to ever set foot in the Sept without a doubt. Even now you are the epitome of the Maiden." Davina's smile this time was almost genuine at her Septa's words, though she was used to many of the women of King's Landing fawning over her, even as a child.

"Thank you," she answered kindly, making the older woman nod once, accepting her thanks.

As the older woman prattled on, Davina's gaze returned to the window, a look full of longing radiating from her eyes. As long as Eglantine was in the room, her sparring session with her Uncle remained out of the question. The older woman would surely frown upon a lady partaking in such activities and would forbid her from them all together, not that Septa Eglantine could stop her from trying. She could make things extremely difficult if she knew, however, and Davina couldn't have that.

Myrcella releasing a sharp breath dripping with pain made both Davina and Septa Eglantine's attentions immediately focus on her. The blonde winced as she studied her finger, now accented with beads of crimson from where she'd slipped and injured herself. "Oh dear," Eglantine said in almost a condescending manner before standing. "We best find you a maester, my dear...wouldn't want that to become infected." She practically dragged Myrcella up from her chair and began herding her towards the door.

Green met green as Eglantine began guiding her sister to the door, and immediate understanding washed over Davina, as well as a feeling of gratitude. Myrcella, precious, dear Myrcella, had pricked her own finger so that her sister might escape the hovering presence of their glorified wet nurse. Davina offered her sister an apologetic smile full of understanding in response.

"We shall be right back, Princess," Eglantine promised, and then they were gone. Davina held her breath and counted to ten slowly, making sure that the two were in fact gone before tossing her embroidery onto the side table next to her chair and standing. Without missing a beat, she exited the room, and upon finding the halls empty, began making her way to the stables as quickly and as quietly as possible.

* * *

Davina waited until there was a clear opening before darting into the stables and making a beeline for her own mount's stall, where she kept her training gear safely hidden away. She was unable to help the wide grin that spread across her features at the sight of her dark bay, nearly black, Dornish mare - a name day present from her father several years before - looking at her with clear excitement as she approached, quieting her all the while. Dusk Rose was always ready for a ride on the beach, no matter the time of day, and she clearly thought Davina had come to free her from the confines of her stall, which was not the case.

She laid a hand directly on top of her blaze, just between her eyes, and stroked there several times in apology before hopping over the door of her stall and immediately digging for her breeches, tunic, and sparring sword in the chest she kept buried beneath mounds of hay at the back of the space.

Once obtaining them, she cast a momentary glance over her shoulder, making sure no one would happen upon her before sliding her dress off her shoulders and letting it pool at her feet. Within moments, she had the old, plain tunic pulled over her head and was in the process of sliding the breeches on when she felt Dusk Rose nudge her back with her nose, causing her to almost fall over.

She turned to glare at her horse, who was clearly perturbed with her, and shook her head. "Not now, Rose," she whispered in annoyance. The dark bay nickered lowly in response, voicing her displeasure at her rider's intentions. Davina merely rolled her eyes and finished pulling her breeches up, fastening them with a belt in order to secure them in place. "I promise we'll ride tomorrow," she swore as she released her hair from it's confines, letting it flow freely in soft, golden brown waves to the small of her back.

She quickly separated it into three sections and plaited it before securing it with a leather tie. Releasing a deep breath, she stashed her dress in the chest and covered it over with hay. She then picked up the sparring sword Jaime had given her and slid it between her belt and her breeches, the only place for it since it wasn't a real sword and therefore lacked a proper scabbard.

Judging she was ready and not wanting to keep her uncle waiting any longer, she turned to leave. The look of disappointment in her mare's eyes, however, gave her momentary pause. "Maybe I'll take you for a ride later," she negotiated, making Rose subtly nod her head, causing Davina to laugh. She kissed her right on the nose before departing, fully intending on making good on her promise after her lesson.

* * *

She crept through the gardens with barely audible steps, avoiding servants and guards alike. If anyone were to recognize her, they'd surely inform her mother, and then there would be no chance of her ever being out of Septa Eglantine's sight until she was wed.

Finally, after carefully maneuvering her way to their secret meeting place, she smiled brightly as she walked into the small grove surrounded entirely by trees. "Sorry I'm so late, I..." she trailed off, her smile fading as she saw the grove was completely empty. Frowning, she checked the Sun's position in the sky once more. She knew she was slightly late, but not outrageously so. Taking another step into their meeting place, she looked around with narrowed eyes. "Uncle Jai-" she cut off with a yelp as a sparring sword was swung straight at her head.

She barely managed to dodge the blow in time, ducking under her uncle's sword and spinning, grabbing his wrist in the process, locking her elbow, keeping his swordhand at a safe distance as she positioned her own blade against his throat. Immediately, his free hand shot out and grasped the wrist of her right hand, using his superior strength to prevent what would surely be a killing blow if she were in the possession of a proper sword.

They remained that way for several moments, staring at each other, before he finally chuckled, making her smile. "It appears you've learned from last time," he observed. She rolled her eyes but found she couldn't wipe the grin from her face. The last time he'd attempted to surprise her, not only had he struck her square on the temple, but had knocked her flat on her ass in the process. She'd had to style her hair differently for an entire week and suffer through a bruised tailbone thanks to her own naivety.

"I'd rather not have to explain yet another bruise to Mother. She must think I'm the most clumsy Princess in the history of the Seven Kingdoms with how often I claim to trip or run into things," she said as they both relaxed and began circling each other like lions did their prey. Davina lunged forward, swinging her blade towards Jaime's midsection, which he deflected easily.

"So, what was she having you practice this time? Curtseying?" he asked conversationally as she paired one of his thrusts.

"Worse...she was forcing us to sew," she said with clear distaste. "As if I need to learn how to fashion my own clothes." Jaime couldn't help but smile.

"You never know when that skill might come in handy," he joked, causing her to roll her eyes.

"I'd much rather be learning things of value," she lowered her sword as she spoke. "Such as politics, history, strategy, or this." She raised her sword again, meaning to indicate she was referring to swordplay when he swung, catching her off guard and nearly knocking it from her grasp.

"Hey!" she exclaimed angrily before deflecting his next blow and lunging forward with one of her own.

* * *

An hour later, Davina sat down in the shade of one of the trees on the far side of the grove, drinking from a waterskin Jaime had brought for her.

"So, I hear your sixteenth nameday is soon."

"No, it's not. It's several moon cycles away," she said dismissively, not wanting to talk of the day she'd been dreading for years with her uncle during their special time together.

"You know, just because you avoid talking about it doesn't mean it's not going to happen," he chastised, making her cross her arms across her chest and lean back against the trunk of the tree with a look that scarily mirrored that of an extremely cross, younger version of her mother.

"So you're saying I should be happy that the King is going to auction me off to the highest bidder like livestock? That my sole purpose in life, all that's expected of me, is to become a breeder for the next generation? To whore myself to whatever nobleman's son that Father wishes to align himself with?" She shook her head, refusing to accept that as her fate. In the next few months, she was going to accomplish a feat not many highborn girls of her station could ever dream of doing - she was going to marry for love.

All she had to do was manipulate her father by having several of his trusted advisors bend his ear in favor of a betrothal to Kol Stark, the boy she'd loved since childhood, and the rest would be smooth sailing. It was a fairly agreeable match that would unite House Baratheon with House Stark, like they would've been united years before had it not been for Rhaegar Targaryen - her mother's original intended until the Mad King had betrayed her grandfather and instead matched his son with Elia Martell simply to spite him - kidnapping Kol's late aunt, Lyanna, who'd been promised to her father.

The subsequent war to win Lyanna back had cost both sides many lives, but in the end, she couldn't bring herself to feel too broken over it. If Rhaegar had never taken her, then she and Kol would more than likely never have been born, and therefore never would have met - a thought that seemed almost too much to bear.

Even though nine years had passed since their last meeting face to face, they'd been corresponding through secret letters for years thanks to Varys, and their easy, though at times antagonistic, friendship had blossomed into a full blown love affair, the likes of which the greatest poems and verses were written about. She was hopelessly, devastatingly, irrevocably his, as he was hers, and they'd sworn to each other several years prior that they would not wed unless it was to the other.

She intended to keep that oath, she merely hoped he felt as fiercely about protecting their love and future together as she did.

"I never said that-" he began, but she cut him off.

"You have no idea what it's like. You joined the Kingsguard in order to escape a similar fate. Mother wasn't so lucky." At his look of surprise, she nodded sadly. "I'm not as blind to his mistreatment of her as she would like to think I am. I know about the whores and how he takes as many to his bed at a time during your watch, forcing you to listen as he dishonors her over and over again." She shook her head in disgust.

"I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn't be forced into such a union, and I will do everything in my power to ensure that doesn't happen to me," she vowed solemnly, staring vacantly at the blade of grass she was twisting between her fingers. She felt Jaime's eyes on her, but she honestly and truly didn't wish to discuss the topic any further, so, she sat in silence, praying that he wouldn't broach the topic again.

He didn't...someone else did.

"Your Grace!" Her gaze shot up from the ground and to the figures of Lord Petyr Baelish, her father's Master of Coin, and Varys, his Master of Whispers, approaching she and her uncle. Both sat on the Small Council with her Uncles Stannis and Renly, her father's brothers, though the former was usually absent from most meetings, choosing to remain in Dragonstone, which he'd held since he'd driven the last of the Targaryens away just before the time of her birth.

She stood to meet them, unworried about her less than elegant appearance. Thanks to the eyes and ears they both had everywhere, there was no doubt in her mind they'd known of she and Jaime's lessons for many years. They bowed to her briefly as she stopped in front of them.

"Princess, forgive us from interrupting your training, but we thought it best to seek you out with this vital information," Varys claimed, his eyes darting to Jaime as the tall, blonde Kingsguard came and stood beside her, clearly confused. "Perhaps we should go somewhere more...private?" he suggested, but she shook her head.

"Varys, whatever you must say, you can say it in front of my uncle." Though the eunuch still looked unconvinced, he trusted her judgement.

"I have heard from many of my small birds, Your Grace, that the King intends on bringing you before court to discuss the matter of forming a marriage alliance with another one of the Great Houses with you." She felt her heart drop in her chest at the news. She still had failed to come up with a viable way to trick her father into matching her with the man she wanted most, and it'd appeared she'd run out of time.

"Do you know which Great House?" she asked carefully, even though both Varys and Baelish knew of her relationship with the second eldest Stark boy.

It was Littlefinger's triumphant grin that set her mind at ease before she managed to even speak the words. "His Grace wishes to align with House Stark, as was intended years ago, before the War...and, to my knowledge, I hear he intends to allow you to pick your husband from Lord Eddard Stark's litter." Her answering smile was absolutely radiant.

"You're sure?" she asked with palpable joy. Baelish nodded with a wide smile.

"Yes, Princess. I have it on very good authority that he shall call you to stand before him in a week's time, and there he intends to negotiate the terms with you...might I also advise that you not seem as positively giddy as you do now, lest he catch onto our plans." She sobered immediately, locking away her feelings of joy to be celebrated later, in the privacy of her chambers.

"I'll make it seem as if I am less than enthusiastic about the suggestion," she affirmed, causing both of her mentors to smile.

"Very good...might we also suggest that, since you will have an audience, it might be beneficial to pose your proposition to His Grace?" Varys hedged, still eyeing Jaime warily.

"What proposition?" Jaime questioned angrily, looking between the two men before turning his attention solely to Davina. "What exactly are you planning?" She straightened her back, squarely her shoulders, and held her head high in a very regal manner.

"I'm going to ask my father to reconsider the line of succession in my favor," she responded simply, but her words were enough to send Jaime into a clear state of shock with his eyes wide and mouth slightly hanging open as he tried to wrap his mind around the meaning behind them.

"I am going to be Queen."

* * *

She had just reached the doors of her chambers, Kol's most recent letter clutched tightly in her fist - which Varys had given her as she'd left the three men behind, one still in shock - when she was stopped by Jon Arryn, her father's Hand and most trusted advisor, as well as her long time mentor. She smiled brightly at the elder Lord, though it faded when all he could do was meet her eyes, his own full of sadness and a confusion she'd never seen there before.

"Lord Arryn?" she questioned, her own expression of joy vanishing as he looked upon her gravely. 'What's the matter?" she asked, shifting her weight while a genuine expression of worry clouded her features. He looked down at his feet before fishing for something tucked into the sleeve of his tunic. He withdrew a folded piece of parchment and held it out to her.

With extreme confusion, she reached out for it, only to have him fold it into her fist so tightly, it was borderline painful. "As soon as you read what I have written, for your own safety, you must burn it," he murmured frantically, the fear in his eyes more than enough to spark some of her own. She tried to speak, to inquire about the contents of the note, but he shushed her. "Promise me, child. Promise me you will toss it into the fire the moment you've finished."

After several seconds of trying to find her voice and failing, she managed to nod her head in assent. Arryn's hand trembled as he released hers, offering her a shaky smile before turning and walking away, disappearing around the corner as rapidly as he'd appeared.

Eyebrows furrowed, she quickly checked to make sure no one had heard their exchange before hurrying into her chambers, lowering the bolt across her door as an afterthought so that no one would walk in on her. She stared at the folded piece of parchment for several prolonged moments before steeling herself for the worst. The fear in his eyes had shaken her to her very core. Whatever words were contained in the note, they were of such grave importance that her mentor clearly feared for his life.

Slowly, after taking a deep breath, she unfolded it, pausing as she took in the hurriedly scribbled words, clearly recorded in an extremely short amount of time, so unlike the nature of its author. Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion as she realized the jumbled mess was a periodical depiction of her paternal ancestry. Frowning, she read through each one by one, whispering them aloud.

" _Lord Orys Baratheon, black of hair. Axel Baratheon, black of hair. Lyonel Baratheon, black of hair. Ormund Baratheon, black of hair. Steffon Baratheon, black of hair. Robert Baratheon, black of hair..."_ She trailed off after reading her father's name, now even more confused than before. All Arryn had listed were the names of her ancestors and their hair color, nothing about their titles, marriages, or accomplishments. Likewise, Arryn himself had left a small inscription after her father's name, so tiny in fact, that she had to squint in order to make out the words.

" _The seed is strong."_ She froze for a moment, pondering what exactly he meant, before continuing on. " _Davina Baratheon, bronze of hair. Joffrey Baratheon, golden haired. Myrcella Baratheon, golden haired. Tommen Baratheon, golden haired."_ As she read out she and her siblings' physical descriptions, she felt an almost sickening churning sensation blossom in her gut.

" _It is highly unlikely that Prince Joffrey, Princess Myrcella, or Prince Tommen were fathered by His Grace. With none possessing the key physical or facial features of His Grace or that of House Baratheon, I conclude they are illegitimate and hold no true claim to the throne, all being the Queen's bastards conceived with another."_ Davina lowered herself onto the foot of her bed as she felt her stomach roiling at the mere suggestion that her brothers and sister were bastards.

She wished she could discount Lord Arryn's suspicions as incorrect and mistaken, but it wasn't that simple. The King and Queen's relationship was far from loving or cordial, even she could see that. Robert and Cersei had hated each other for as long as she could remember, so the notion that her mother had sought out and found solace in the arms of another did not shock her as much as it should have.

" _Given their likeness and resemblance, both to each other and their mother, it is likely they all possess the same father."_ Davina relaxed her arms so that the note was rested in her lap as she stared forward vacantly, trying to determine what man would be capable and foolish enough to bed the Queen under the same roof as the King, as well as who had been around during the time of all three conceptions. He had to be someone close to the royal family and someone her mother trusted and loved implicitly.

Davina felt bile rise in her throat as she realized there was only one person in all the Seven Kingdoms her mother loved and trusted besides her children.

Jaime.

With shaky hands, still partially in shock, she glanced down at Arryn's note to see he'd scribbled a singular sentence at the bottom.

" _Of Princess Davina's legitimacy, I am unsure, but there is enough evidence to create doubt in my mind that she too was fathered by His Grace."_

Her entire world crumbling around her, she stood from her bed and strode over to the hearth on the far side of her room, tossing the piece of parchment inside. She held out a trembling hand, and with tears in her eyes, she reached deep inside herself, drawing forth her magic.

 _"_ _Perzys."_ As the note caught fire, she couldn't help but wonder what would become of her if anyone knew the truth.

* * *

Within a few days, Jon Arryn was dead. Grand Maester Pycelle claimed that fever had taken him, and while Davina supposed that might've been true, she suspected her dear mother and beloved uncle played a role in her mentor's death, further confirming her belief of their affair. She'd tried to deny it at first, convincing herself that her father's Hand had been sorely mistaken, but as soon as he'd taken to his sick bed, that denial had gradually become harder and harder to cling to.

She still held the little that remained in a death grip, praying that he'd been wrong and his beliefs were unfounded. She refused to believe something so egregious about two of the people she loved more than life itself, not until she heard one of them admit it themselves, which was exactly what she had set out to do as she'd left her chambers and headed to the throne room where the Silent Sisters were preparing Lord Arryn's body for burial in the hopes that she would find either or both Lannister twins there.

Rounding the corner, she entered the hallway that led to the gallery, pausing when she made out her mother's slim figure as she silently watched the sisters work. Davina took a moment, as she often did after not seeing Cersei for a few days, to admire her regal mother. When she was a child, she'd thought her the most beautiful woman in the known world - an opinion that had not altered much over the years.

Whispers had begun around the castle that she herself held the same beauty, and it would surpass that of her mother's with time. She had a hard time believing them, but if the words were ever said to her directly, she'd graciously thank whoever it was who'd said it before disagreeing. It was hard for her to imagine there being a more stunning woman than the one standing before her, and even more difficult to consider herself as her equal.

She shook her head, clearing it of such trivial thoughts, and prepared herself for the coming conversation where her mother would undoubtedly tell her, truthfully, that all the accusations Jon Arryn had brought before her were false. Right as she was about to announce herself, she spied Jaime rounding the corner opposite her, entering the gallery from the other end of the throne room, and she ducked back around the corner closest to her without thinking, her footsteps as light as a feather, just as he'd taught her.

Realizing that her breathing had increased dramatically, she willed herself to calm down, leaning back against the wall for a moment, steeling her nerves, before peaking around the corner just as he stopped next to Cersei.

"As your brother, I feel it's my duty to warn you - you worry too much. It's starting to show." Even though his back was to her, she could hear the smirk that was no doubt spread across his features. She was only about ten paces away from them, so his words were more than audible.

"And you never worry about anything," she shot back. He shifted his weight, looking as if he wished to deny her words, but she pressed on before he could do so. "When we were seven, you jumped off the cliffs at Casterly Rock. Hundred foot drop into the water... you were never afraid." Davina couldn't help but smile at that. She'd done the same when she'd been about that age during a visit to her grandfather, much to her mother's horror.

"There was nothing to be afraid of until you told Father. _Lannisters, Lannisters don't act like fools_." His spot on impression of Tywin brought a smile to Davina's lips and she had to cover her mouth to stifle the laugh it'd stirred in her throat. Again, he'd said much the same in a verbal lashing afterwards. _Lannister Princesses don't act foolish, Davina. You will never do anything of the sort again, or you will suffer more than a night without dinner._

There had never been any love lost between she and Tywin, who hardly seemed like he cared for his own children, let alone his grandchildren. She suspected he'd been disappointed in the fact she'd been born a girl, and that displeasure had only grown with every passing moon since her birth.

"What if Jon Arryn told someone?" Cersei questioned as she looked out over the throne room again, and all the laughter caused by Jaime died in her throat. She waited with baited breath for her mother to either deny the accusations or to offer another explanation as to why he'd met such a sudden end, but found her heart sink in her chest as neither came.

"But who would he tell?" Davina shut her eyes tightly, her hands balling into fists at her sides as she felt tears sting the backs of her eyes. It was in that moment she realized he'd been right after all. Something had been carrying on between the pair in front of her for years, unnoticed, so well concealed, that it'd produced three - possibly four - bastard children that had been passed off as legitimate all too easily. She heard her mother sigh heavily.

"My husband," she said, sounding hesitant. Davina's hand sought the wall for support as she felt her knees threaten to give out.

"If he'd told the King, both our heads would be skewered on the city gates by now," Jaime reasoned. "As would the children's'." She could picture it all too clearly - five golden haired heads and a bronze one, all in a line, decorating the Gate of the Gods. Robert would not spare her, even if there was room for reasonable doubt. She'd have been as doomed as the rest of them had he told the King.

Had that been why he'd gone to her? In the hopes she'd reach that conclusion and escape with her life it that's what it came down to?

Feeling overwhelmed, she reached out for the wall again, blindly, only to be met with air. She stumbled backwards, shuffling an ornate freestanding candelabra in the process, generating more than enough noise to draw the attention of both Cersei and Jaime, whose eyes went wide at the sight of her.

The tears came rushing back then, and before she knew it, she was shaking as they rolled down her cheeks, green eyes radiating disbelief, anger, and pain. She could see by the looks on their faces that they knew she knew, and as Jaime took a step in her direction, she turned and ran.

* * *

It wasn't until King's Landing was nearly unrecognizable in the distance did she pull Rose up, taking back the reins, having given her mare her head the moment they'd passed through the Iron Gate. Looking around and making sure there was no one in sight, she steered her towards the beach at a leisurely pace, allowing her rest even though she didn't need it.

As she'd fled the throne room, the twins had both given chase, and because of that, she'd weaved a complicated path through less populated areas of the Red Keep, doubling back and going in circles several times in an attempt to confuse them, before heading for the stables. She'd wasted no time in mount Rose, not bothering with a saddle or bridle, and making her way out of the castle walls and into the city, cutting through Flea Bottom in the process, thinking that certainly her queenly mother wouldn't dare follow her, and for the moment, she could almost convince herself of it.

Now, as she slid off her Dornish mare's back, her feet meeting the uneven terrain that led to the Narrow Sea, all the feelings she'd suppressed during her escape came rushing back with startling, overwhelming intensity. She felt like screaming, sobbing, raging, and vanishing into nothing all at once. If Jaime were there, she'd liked to have struck him in the jaw with as much of her strength as she could possibly muster, just to make him feel a sliver of the pain and betrayal she was experiencing.

He'd had a million chances to tell her over the years, so many opportunities, and yet he'd kept it from her. Jaime was one of the only people she trusted implicitly, that she never lied to - about her feelings, wants, and wishes - and she'd foolishly believed that trust had extended both ways.

And Cersei...she shook her head in disgust at the mere thought of her mother's name. Her lies cut deeper than a thousand knives or swords ever could. It was an ache, deep in her soul, one that made her want to carve her own heart out of her chest and serve it to her on a platter made of the same gilded metal their House was so well known for.

She left Rose where she'd dismounted - the filly was so well trained, not to mention loved her dearly, that the thought of her galloping off was preposterous - and moved towards the waves, kicking off her boots as she went. Wading into the shallow salt water, she didn't stop until the tide reached her knees, and when she did, she closed her eyes and willed everything away. She didn't pay mind as the bottom half of her skirt grew heavier the longer it was subjected to the elements, or to her hair as it became tangled in the ocean breeze, blowing as the wind willed.

When she was alone, as she was now, she could almost imagine what it would've been like to be born a commoner, without a title or rank associated with her name, or perhaps not even a name at all. Surnames were reserved for those born of nobility, legitimate or otherwise. For a moment, she contemplated that, if she were illegitimate, would she bear the name Storm or Hill? She scowled and pushed the thought away, wrapping a hand around her long bronze mane in an attempt to tame it. Again, the likening of her hair to that of a lion's mane - as her mother so often had in her childhood - caused a bitterness to form in her mouth.

In an attempt to distract her wayward, treacherous thoughts, she sank down until she was kneeling in the wake, allowing her head to tilt back and her eyes to drift close as the sun warmed her face while the Narrow Sea cooled her body. A memory came to her then, entirely unbidden, of she, Jaime, and Cersei walking along the shores of the Sunset Sea, some several hundred miles away, with Casterly Rock looming in the distance as the Sun began it's descent to meet the waves.

It'd been on the same trip where she'd jumped from the cliffs, but it'd been the day before, only an hour after being received into their ancestral home by Tywin himself. It'd been an excruciatingly slow journey that'd spanned nearly three weeks, cooped up in the carriage with her mother and siblings, and she'd been at her wits end as they'd been presented to him, her eyes constantly flitting towards the ocean in the distance.

She'd always loved the sea - the smell, the feel, the wind, the warmth of the Sun contrasting with the coolness of the tide - a fact well known by both Jaime and Cersei. So, after Joff, 'Cella, and Tommen had been tucked in for a much needed nap, the Lannister twins had spirited her away to the beach and proceeded to let her release all of her pent up energy as they watched with barely concealed smiles.

Looking back on it now, it was her most treasured and favored memory she shared with them. She couldn't remember feeling more happy, innocent, carefree, and loved as she had that afternoon, especially as Jaime'd chased her through the surf while Cersei had watched with perhaps the most genuine smile Davina had ever seen her wear. Then, she remembered wishing that Jaime had been her father, not Robert. Her father hardly ever glanced her way, and when he did, it was only for a moment and always absentmindedly. He never truly paid her any mind.

Jaime was different, always had been from her earliest memory, and she loved him more than she could ever love Robert. As he'd carried her in his arms on their way back to the Rock as twilight rolled around, her eyelids drooping as exhaustion began to take over, she'd admitted as much as she drifted off into a fitful sleep. She couldn't remember anything after that until the next day on the cliffs, but she could only imagine the simultaneous joy and grief it'd caused them both.

Sighing in defeat, she leaned back and allowed her hair to meet the waves, thoroughly soaking it from root to tip, before splashing a handful of it across her face.

And that was how the two found her. As she heard the distinct sound of two sets of hooves striking the ground in the distance, and Rose's nervous nickering at the sight of company, Davina stood and began making her way back to shore. She paid them little mind as they drew near, focusing the majority of her attention on her filly as she grew restless, outwardly displaying Davina's innermost feelings.

Truthfully, she had no desire or intention to talk to either of them, but Jaime took matters into his own hands by dismounting his white stallion and approaching her. "Davina," he murmured as he gently brushed her arm in attempt to get her eyes to meet his, but she recoiled as if he'd slapped her, ripping her arm from his grasp. Her eyes did in fact meet his then, but there was a fire burning in their depths.

"If you ever touch me again, I swear, upon the Old Gods and New, that you will suddenly find yourself lacking your swordhand, Ser," she spat, making him flinch. Even as a child, she'd never addressed him so formally.

He backed away a few paces - whether from shock or some other motivation, she wasn't sure - as Cersei dismounted and moved towards her. Davina took a step back, almost panickedly, holding up a hand to ward her away as tears formed in her eyes. Thankfully, Cersei stopped, allowing Davina some room to breath, though she remained closer than Jaime.

"How long have you known?" Davina swallowed past the lump in her throat as she struggled to answer her mother's question without sounding weak, but it was futile. She was far too emotional to hide her true feelings as Cersei so often did.

"Lord Arryn handed me a written note detailing his assumption and the evidence behind it about three nights ago," she responded, her voice cracking slightly. "I didn't want to believe it at first. I'd all but convinced myself he'd been mistaken until I heard you two talking earlier..." she trailed off, a lone tear streaking down her cheek before she bit her lip and looked upon them, but her eyes were devoid of the anger they'd held just moments before.

"Why?" she asked shakily, her hand grasping onto Rose's mane for both physical and emotional support, but as Cersei opened her mouth, Davina's mind changed, and she shook her head. If her mother went into detail about why she'd chosen to carry on an extramarital affair, she'd surely be sick. "I...I don't think I could stomach it if you told me, so please, please don't. I just..." she trailed off as more tears fell, coating her cheeks in them.

"I trusted you...I _loved_ you - _both_ of you," she said fiercely, though her confession carried a hint of defeat with it. "But all I was to you was a means to an end."

"Sweetling, you know that is not-"

"How can I know for sure?" she questioned, cutting Cersei off. "For all I know, you could've been using my very existence to remain in power. Even if I'm not Robert's trueborn child, I look much more like him than Joff, 'Cella, or Tommen, and as long as I appear even remotely similar, then why should anyone question my legitimacy, let alone that of my sister and brothers'?" She shook her head in disgust, rationalizing Cersei's possible train of thought all too easily.

"You don't care about me...I'm beginning to think you never did. Joffrey can do no wrong. He's the golden prince - your little golden lion. No matter how many horrible curses he hurls at me or how many times he's physically harmed me, he's your favorite. Myrcella is prim and perfect and the prime example of everything a princess should be. Tommen is your baby boy...but what am I to you, Mother?" She questioned angrily.

"Some bronzed haired freak that can do things normal girls shouldn't be able to do? The daughter of a man whose throat you'd rather slit than allow in your bed again?" It occurred to her, then, that the only two people who were aware of who'd actually fathered her stood before her. Squaring her shoulders, she willed the torrent of tears to stop, if but for a moment, as she sought the answer she simultaneously craved and feared above all else.

"Or am I his?" she asked, her green eyes flicking to Jaime for a fraction of a second before returning to Cersei's once more, feeling her heart sink in her chest as her mother, for the first time, backed down and looked away. That one reaction told her everything she needed to know.

 _Not even Cersei knew._

Davina looked away, fighting back the next wave of tears as she let that knowledge wash over her like the waves of the Shivering Sea, hardening her to both her mother and uncle. She released an angry, clipped noise resembling a humorless laugh before turning her attention to Rose.

" _Obūljagon,"_ she commanded in High Valyrian, and her filly responded immediately, kneeling to make mounting her easier. She climbed onto her back, and once she was situated, she grasped her mane between her hands and commanded her to rise.

" _Sīmonagon."_ She stood with Davina seated expertly on her back, even without a saddle. Davina stroked her dark coat several times in silent praise for understanding and obeying her, causing Rose to nicker in kind. The Princess smiled despite herself before, for some unknown reason, her hand came up to brush against her gold lion pendant she'd had and worn for over a decade.

The necklace had been a gift from her mother, who'd fastened the clasp herself whilst still recovering from birthing Myrcella just hours earlier. Jaime had held Myrcella cradled in his arms while Cersei presented it to her, showing her the identical one she wore, as well as the one she'd had made for 'Cella when she came of age. To this day it was still one of her most treasured possessions, and she had scarcely taken it off since.

As she'd leaned back against her mother's chest, with Cersei helping to support her as she cradled newborn Myrcella in her arms and Jaime looking upon them with an expression she could now correctly identify as fatherly pride, she could remember her mother whispering in her ear.

" _You are a lioness, my sweet...I pray you never forget that."_

She smiled bitterly at the memory before ripping it from her neck, breaking the clasp in the process. The implications behind her actions were not lost on either Cersei or Jaime. Davina weighed it in her palm for a moment as she slowly urged Rose forward. Once she reached Cersei, she tossed it to the sand at her feet.

"Who knows what the hell I am," she muttered sadly, and before her mother moved to pick it up - at this point, Davina could care less if she did so or not - she kicked Rose's sides hard, sending her into a full fledged gallop as she fled back to the Red Keep.

* * *

Several days had come and gone since the day of Jon Arryn's burial, the majority of which had been spent in her bed feigning illness in an attempt to avoid any further interaction with either Cersei or Jaime. Her mother had requested to see her several times, but she'd refused her entry into her chambers, claiming she didn't wish her mother to catch the same sickness. Her handmaidens thought her a loving, caring, thoughtful daughter, and praised her for it, but she knew Cersei was well aware of the act.

Her gaze shifted to her mother as she sat by Robert, who was seated in the Iron Throne as he carried out his duties as King - a task he would've undoubtedly entrusted to Jon Arryn if he were still alive. She was in the gallery with the other highborn ladies, having made a miraculous recovery in the past few hours. Both Varys and Littlefinger had assured her that he would call her before him to discuss the matter of her marriage and she knew that if she wished for things to go her way, she simply had to be in attendance.

Her mother was in her usual place as the King's Consort, seated on his left side, the furthest from the gallery, and that suited Davina just fine. She didn't know when she'd be ready to speak to Cersei, but with any luck, it wouldn't be any time soon. She was more than content to avoid any further confrontation with her for the foreseeable future.

Abruptly, Robert's eyes sought her out and he motioned for her to come forward. "Davina, my child. I have a matter to discuss with you." She gracefully made her way down the stairs as the nobles parted for her, all whispering admiration of her beauty. Most had not seen her since she was a girl, so to see her now, a woman grown, coming into her own, drew their attention like nothing else.

Davina remained stoic as she made her way in front of the throne, knowing exactly what matter he wished to discuss with her so publicly thanks to Varys' warning.

She curtsied in front of him, displaying perfect form. She stayed that way until she heard her father ask for her to stand, which she did as fluidly as one possibly could, her head held high and her posture perfect. She knew every eye in the room was on her. They were taking in her hair, which was not in the customary style, but instead fashioned in her usual one - half pulled back and the rest left to fall in waves down to the small of her back. Her dress was as red as blood with gold accents as bright as sunlight on a midsummer's day, complementing her olive complexion and accentuating her Lannister eyes. The garment was just mature enough as to show off her womanly figure without displaying an outrageous amount of skin.

"Your Grace," she said diplomatically, making her father smile.

"You are clearly a woman grown, my dear...I believe it is well past time that you were wed."

"If Your Grace wishes it," she replied hesitantly, making her tone show she was not entirely in agreement without defying him outright. That would not go over well. Robert frowned at her answer, clearly seeing through to the hidden distaste for his proposition.

"You do not sound pleased."

"I mean Your Grace no dishonor," she said quickly, sounding as apologetic as she possibly could while not feeling even a shred of said emotion. If she wished to deceive him, she had to go about it in the right manner. "If you wish it, then I shall marry whomever you choose." Robert studied her for several long moments as her head remained bowed. If she met his eyes, he would see the clear disdain for him that surely shone like a beacon, and then she would lose whatever advantage she had over him.

"I will make a concession with you, since I favor you above most others," he said in negotiation, surprising her. Robert always got what he wanted - he drank whenever he pleased, fucked whomever he chose no matter if it was in public or in the private of his chambers, and hunted as frequently as he wished. King Robert Baratheon did not concede to many. "I merely wish that you marry one of Lord Stark's sons, the choice of which I shall leave up to you." Davina had to fight every impulse not to grin at this - it was exactly what she'd wanted, what _they'd_ wanted for so long, and it was finally coming to pass.

"I shall do as Your Grace commands," she said evenly, bowing lowly once more, though much more quickly this time, before standing up and meeting his eyes. "There is only one thing I ask in return." She saw his cold blue eyes narrow at this, which nearly gave her pause, but, she only lifted her chin, challenging him to take the bait.

"And what might that be?" he asked through clenched teeth. She swallowed past the lump that'd suddenly risen in her throat. She was treading on dangerous ground asking him this, especially in such a public place. She knew, however, that if he agreed, his promise would hold more weight than if he'd merely conceded in private.

For a brief instant, she was tempted to back down, to abandon whatever dreams they'd had over the years, discounting them for fleeting, childish notions and wants, but then she remembered the suffering of the people and all her father wasn't doing to better the lives of his subjects while he lived in luxury. She steeled her nerves and forced her voice to remain unwavering and overflowing with confidence.

"If I do this, if I offer myself to one of Lord Eddard Stark's sons...then I humbly ask that you reconsider the line of succession." There was a mere moment of silence, where her voice echoed around the cavernous halls of the Red Keep before the whole court erupted, some whispering of her gall, while others were intrigued with her request and admired her for her bravery.

She met her father's eyes as he studied her thoughtfully, something that greatly surprised her. She'd half expected him to either laugh in her face or humiliate her in front of the entire court, but he'd done neither. He watched her for a few moments before his eyes turned to the crowd that was hastily discussing and sharing their opinions on the matter.

Davina took a chance and glanced to the left - well, Davina's right - of the throne, meeting her mother's clearly displeased gaze. She took satisfaction in the fact she might be about to steal Cersei's favorite child's birthright out from under his nose. She'd never voiced it outright, but it was clear she favored Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen above Davina, something that had always eaten away at Davina's confidence and sense of self worth.

Now that she knew the truth, she could easily attribute her mother's favoritism to the fact that they could be fathered by a different man, one that she loved instead of loathed. Because of her darker complexion and coloring, even if she were pure blooded lion, she could pass for a stag without question. Perhaps that was why Robert favored her above even Joffrey, his heir apparent. Maybe, somewhere deep within him, he knew or at least suspected the truth, but his pride prevented him from saying or doing anything about it.

"Silence!" he bellowed, and the whispering ceased just as suddenly as it'd begun. He eyed her up and down once more, sizing her up. Davina turned her attention back to her supposed father, the King, awaiting his answer with a nervousness she refused to show. She would not appear weak, especially now.

"You would have me forsake your brother's claim, as has been tradition for nearly three centuries, in your favor?" he questioned. She nodded gracefully, radiating an air of nobility Joffrey could never emulate.

"Yes, Your Grace. That is precisely what I am requesting."

"And why should I even consider betraying your brother, my firstborn son's, trust in support of an inferior candidate?" Davina narrowed her eyes. Robert was testing her, wanting to see if she would wilt under his clear lack of faith in her capabilities as a leader or if she would rise to the occasion and prove him wrong. She chose the later - he would not best her. She would not allow him to put Joffrey, an illegitimate bastard born of incest, a psychopathic spoiled child in the making, in such a position of power. He'd surely send the Seven Kingdoms spiraling into ruin as surely as the Sun would rise the next day, she was merely one of the first to recognize the inevitable future that laid before them if that were to happen.

"Because, Your Grace, while Joffrey might be your first boy, I am your firstborn. In many Essosi cultures, as well as Dorne, I would be your rightful heir, without question. I am a thousand times more capable than he will ever be..." she trailed off and cocked her head, almost mockingly. "Has the Prince even held a sword? I know that he has never shown interest in learning any sort of military practice, whether it be strategy or combat. How can one be the King, the protector of his own realm, if he isn't fit to defend it? What soldier would willingly follow an inexperienced child into the depths of hell if he knew the boy to have no experience?" Of all things, the King laughed at her response.

"You say that as if you have wielded a weapon." Her answering smirk was almost deadly in nature, causing the grin to fade from Robert's face.

"And who's to say I haven't?" she shot back. He narrowed his icy blue eyes and studied her again. "For more than the past decade, I have been taught how to wield a blade by my Uncle, Ser Jaime Lannister, arguably one of the greatest swordsman in the known world," she said, meeting Jaime's eyes, hoping against hope that he'd throw her his support along with Lord Baelish and Varys. It also helped that the two would vouch and swear Lord Arryn had supported her as well.

"Is this true, Kingslayer?" Davina had to bite her tongue as her father, who was perhaps her father in name only, addressed her Uncle, who could possibly be her true father, in a way she knew he hated. He'd once confessed to her during a sparring session that he loathed the title greatly.

Jaime stepped forward, glancing at her for a long moment before nodding and meeting Robert's eyes. "Yes, Your Grace, since her fifth name day," he replied. Davina let out a deep breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Jaime had been the one unknown in her entire plan. Without his support, her argument would've lost all credibility. Her main claim was that she could protect the realm a thousand times better than her brother ever could, but if Jaime had said she was lying about her skills, Robert would've laughed in her face and her rule would've ended before it'd even begun.

"And you didn't think to consult me first?"

"The Princess requested it as a name day gift, the only one she's ever asked of me, and she is my niece. How could I refuse her? It is clear even Your Grace has trouble since you are allowing her to pick her husband." Davina wanted to gesticulate to her uncle to stop trying to justify his actions by pointing out that even Robert himself could deny her nothing, but there were too many eyes on her. All she could do was close her eyes and pray to the Seven that he would remain true to his promise. If she couldn't have Kol Stark, then she would refuse all others. She'd be the Virgin Queen until her death, and upon that time, she'd more than likely name either Tommen or Myrcella as her heir, or even her cousin, Shireen, if she must.

All she knew was that as long as she had a say, the throne would stay safely out of Joffrey's grasp.

"I suppose you are right, she is awfully hard to resist. As she stated, she is my firstborn, girl or otherwise, and therefore she is dear to me in a way my other children are not." Davina took that as an agreement on her father's part and a sign that he would not retract his promise to allow her to choose her own husband out of the Stark pack. He glanced over at her again before turning back to Jaime.

"How is she? Is she as proficient with a blade as you?" Jaime turned and graced her with a smile, so painstakingly similar to hers that, for a fraction of a second, she was almost certain she was his. When people complimented her, they often commented on how her smile could put a thousand suns to shame, and the moment Jaime had looked on her, beaming with a pride she'd never seen shining in his green eyes, that very description had immediately jumped to the forefront of her mind.

"At times, dare I say it, she manages to best me," he responded honestly, making Davina grin widely before looking away sheepishly. It wasn't an extravagant compliment by any stretch of the imagination, but the fact that he truly believed her to be his equal at points meant more to her than any grand-sweeping, poetic verse or song ever could.

Her father fixed her with a look she'd never seen him direct her way before at Jaime's honest reply. "Then she must be rather formidable..." he trailed off, possibly seeing her with new eyes. When presented with all of her skills and capabilities, Robert would be a fool to not appoint her his heir, and she suspected he was coming to that very realization now. "But a leader must possess more knowledge than how to simply swing a sword." Davina's answering smirk was absolutely dripping with cunning.

"I am well aware of that, Your Grace, which is why I have been studying the Seven Kingdoms since my eighth name day with Lord Arryn, as well as the arts of politics and diplomacy." Thanks to Arryn's tutelage, she was as well versed in the histories and customs of the Great Houses as Pycelle. Her father's expression dropped at the mention of his departed Hand.

"Lord Arryn has advised you on such matters in the past?" he questioned. She nodded, unsure if he would take her at her word or if she would need Littlefinger and Varys to confirm her claims.

"It is true, Your Grace." Davina's stance relaxed slightly as Petyr Baelish stepped forward, drawing her father's attention away from her, allowing her to breathe easier. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Varys at Baelish's heels as, together, they walked forward to join her in front of the King.

If Robert Baratheon had seemed surprised at the news his daughter was among the best swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms, perhaps even the greatest, the suggestion that she was well versed in all things a ruler should be at least somewhat knowledgeable of seemed to astound him.

"Myself, Lord Arryn, and Varys have been bestowing on the Princess every ounce of knowledge she was willing to drink in since her eighth name day, as she previously stated," he claimed, accentuating his words with a bow. The King appeared blindsided for a moment before he shook himself from his shock induced stupor.

"And how has she fared?" He asked, now sounding more intrigued than anything else.

"She is truly a special child, Your Grace. Not many can understand and master coin, history, politics, and the art of secrets, much less put them to use, but she has excelled at them all a hundred times over. It is she who has been aiding me in managing the Seven Kingdoms finances for the past two years, and because of her, we have prospered monetarily in a way that I myself have never witnessed. I would readily and gladly pledge my loyalty to her if she were in fact chosen as your heir," he said, bowing again before stepping back three paces, leaving she and Varys standing before her father.

While Littlefinger's praise was exactly what she'd been hoping for, he had lied about the extent of her involvement. Though she understood and excelled at managing money, Lord Baelish had never allowed her to personally handle or oversee any matter of great importance. She also knew his claims of prosperity were a bold-faced lie - they were up to their ears in debt to her grandfather, and there was no telling how much they owed the Iron Bank - but she would rectify that when she assumed the throne.

"I agree wholeheartedly with Lord Baelish, Your Grace. In these past seven years, the Princess has observed and aided me in collecting important information regarding the Realm, information that has proven to be invaluable. She is an astoundingly bright child with such a thirst for knowledge that would put even a maester to shame. I, too, would gladly serve under her if she were to be chosen." And, like with Littlefinger, Varys bowed and faded away into the background, leaving her alone in front of the very throne she so desired once more.

To say Robert appeared stunned would be a grave understatement. After several long seconds of silenced passed by as he absorbed all that he'd been told, he finally looked at her again, this time with barely concealed pride.

"It seems that I have sorely misunderestimated you, my child," he said with an honest smile, making her return it with blinding intensity. "Is there anything else you would like to say?" he offered, something he rarely did. The chance to speak openly in front of court, unhindered by anyone, was a chance she would be a fool to forfeit.

She turned to look into the crowd, being sure to look as many people in the eye as she could.

"My whole life, the people of this city have harbored a fear that I too share. It is common knowledge that both Viserys Targaryen and his younger sister, Daenerys, survived my Uncle Stannis' siege of Dragonstone and fled to Essos, where they remain to this day...but for how long? You know as well as I that Viserys plans on someday attempting to take back what he believes is his by birthright, so ask yourselves this - would you rather have a Boy King who has failed to show interest in his birthright, or a Queen who can and will protect you when that threat comes knocking on our doorstep?" She waited, drinking in their silence, taking it as affirmation that they believed she was a more viable option than her brother before plowing on.

"Now, I might be young, but the truth remains that I know better than most, certainly better than my brother, what we are truly up against, and I can help build a peace, ushering the Seven Kingdoms into a Golden Age unlike any other, or I can burn our enemies to the ground," she promised, with a conviction that her audience felt within their very souls. Making sure she had their undivided attention, she drove her point home.

"The question isn't whether or not I should be named the heir of Robert of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of The Seven Kingdoms and Protector of The Realm. The question is _what the hell would you do without me_?" A silence washed over the Red Keep as the nobles looked upon her, most with an expression radiating pure wonderment as they looked upon her as she stood just paces from where she longed to be most.

"Well." Her father's voice drew her attention, causing her to turn around so that she could meet his gaze, which was now overflowing with pride. "It seems that with all I've heard, and all you've just said, I have no choice but to reconsider." As soon as a smile began spreading across her face, he held up a hand. "I am not saying that the throne is yours...but you've definitely caught my attention, Davina, and it shall not go unnoticed." She bowed her head graciously, silently thanking him for his reconsideration. He then focused his attention on the other nobles in the room, who were watching the interaction between father and daughter with rapt attention.

"Let it be known that I, Robert of the House Baratheon, First of My Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of The Realm, have promised my firstborn, my eldest daughter, Davina of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, First of Her Name, Crown Princess of the Andals and the First Men, the Bold, blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, my reconsideration in the matter of succession, in her favor." His eyes fell on her and, again, she bowed gracefully, waiting for him to ask for her to stand before doing so.

He'd just bestowed her first true title upon her in front of the entire court to mark her bravery for her request. It was the highest honor a man could receive - for a woman to receive a given title that held no relation to her familial status or wealth was a rare occurrence.

Her grandfather, the mighty Tywin Lannister himself, had been dubbed as The Great Lion. Despite her misgivings and general dislike of the man who could possibly be her sole grandfather, she couldn't help but admire him for raising their house from the mud where his own father had driven it.

She intended to be greater still.

With her head held high, she turned and strode out of the throne room, fully aware of the nobles bowing to her as she passed, acknowledging her claim to the throne. The only person who failed to offer her their respect, besides her father and the members of his Kingsguard, was her own mother, who merely glared at her back as she made her way across the room and through the doors.

* * *

She lay in the waning sunlight later that afternoon, at the base of a tree near the seawall. After she'd been dismissed from court, she'd returned to her chambers to find that Varys had left her a letter from Kol, slipped under her door. Already victorious from her negotiations with her father, she'd quickly snatched the note from the floor before retreating out to her favorite spot, where the ocean breeze washed over her gently and the smell of salt tinged the air.

As the sun warmed her already bronzed skin, she unfolded the note, smiling immediately at seeing his familiar script.

 _My Dearest Davina,_

 _I wish you the best of luck when you are inevitably called before the King to discuss the matter of your marriage. If the Gods are on our side, surely we shall be wed before your nameday, and I will count myself the luckiest man in the world when we are pronounced husband and wife before god and man alike. I know, without a doubt, it will be the happiest day of my life._

 _I also pray, to the Old Gods and New, to give you strength when questioning the line of succession. Your father is many things, but a fool he is not. Given the chance to demonstrate your superior skills, or the voucher of Lord Baelish, Lord Varys, and Lord Arryn, should prove more than enough to convince His Majesty of your abilities. From what I remember of Joffrey, he is extremely unfit to be King. Even though he was but six when we met, based off your stories over the years, he has not changed much._

 _Your father_ _ **will**_ _come to his senses. You_ _ **will**_ _be Queen, and I_ _ **will**_ _be there at your side in any capacity you need, even if it is merely as a lover or a friend in counsel. If you wish me to rule by your side, it would be my supreme honor to be your King Consort - the first, if I'm not mistaken. Together we will decide what is right for the Realm, and one day a son or daughter of ours will ascend the throne and we will retire somewhere far, far away as our children and our grandchildren rule in our stead._

 _If your father agrees upon our marriage, then the day draws near that we are finally reunited. The prospect of once again holding you in my arms is almost more than I can stand, and I hope you feel the same, for once we are together, I am never letting you out of my sight again._

 _I am yours, from my first day until my last, as I pray you will be mine,_

 _ **Kol Stark**_

She reread the letter several times before folding it back up again with a giddy, lovestruck expression. His unwavering support and faith never ceased to amaze her. He believed her fully and totally capable of anything she set her mind to, even a goal as mountainous as reaching for the throne, and his promise to be by her side, in whatever capacity she needed or desired, set her heart at ease, but at the same time, she couldn't help but shake her head at his foolishness.

Of course she wished for him to rule by her side. She imagined their lives no other way. She would sit the Iron Throne with him beside her, seated in his very own as they governed the Seven Kingdoms together as one. He would be the greatest King in nearly three centuries, and she would be the first true queen. They would have their own litter of golden wolf pups, one of which would live to succeed her, taking his or her father's ancestral name and bearing a new sigil representing the joining of the Houses Baratheon and Stark.

It was a beautiful vision that made her heart both ache and soar, and in that moment, she swore to herself she would ensure it came to pass, no matter the consequences. She refused to fall into a loveless marriage like that of the King and Queen. She respected herself far too much allow that to happen.

She had been so busy dreaming of the life she and Kol would begin in a few months time that she failed to realize her mother was approaching until her shadow cast itself over Davina's features. Though taken aback, she managed to carefully slip Kol's letter underneath her without Cersei noticing. It wouldn't do to have her mother aware of she and Kol's relationship, especially knowing how she opposed any of her children marrying into, or a member of, House Stark. She doubted her father was liable to change his mind, especially concerning her union, but Joffrey's was another matter entirely, one that her mother was surely attempting to sabotage.

Neither offered a greeting, but Davina couldn't hide her surprise when Cersei sat down on the grass beside her, making her severely uncomfortable. They sat that way in silence for countless minutes until, finally, Davina felt her mother's eyes land on her.

"What were you thinking, trying to convince your father to take away Joff's birthright?" she questioned angrily, and Davina sighed heavily. She'd been expecting a confrontation over her actions eventually, just not so soon.

"The Iron Throne _should_ be mine, Mother, not even you can deny that I am a thousand times more capable of ruling the Seven Kingdoms than Joffrey could ever dream of being. I have put forth more effort into learning about each and every House, no matter their size or station, studying policies and diplomacy, training with a sword so that I might be able to lead our troops against Viserys Targaryen and whatever army he intends to form in order to protect our family, our legacy, our _way of life_. I want to lead, I was born for it...and Joff has shown little to no interest in any of it," she finally turned her head so that she met her mother's identical eyes for a moment before looking away.

"Instead, all he cares about is torturing poor woodland creatures and being a shithead," she nearly growled, her clear dislike for her younger brother emanating from her entire being. They'd never gotten along, even as infants. She remembered the first time she realized just how greatly she despised him.

They'd been four and three respectively, sitting in the gardens one day with Cersei and Jaime, having just finished a game of tag where he'd gotten mad that she'd caught him, so he'd kicked her as hard as he possibly could. Even at four, Davina had been unwilling to take any ill treatment from him, so, she'd responded by shoving him to the grass, making him cry. Cersei had scolded her mercilessly for it while she'd coddled him, soothing his tears, though she'd witnessed him strike Davina first.

Davina had sat quietly throughout her mother's rant, and when it was over, she'd simply turned to her uncle and asked if he would teach her to use a sword. Joffrey had berated her for it, in his still simplistic way, cementing her hatred for him.

When she realized Cersei hadn't immediately jumped to Joffrey's defense, Davina turned and found her mother studying her intently. Finally, after a prolonged moment, she shook her head absently. "I never wanted you involved in any of this," she said honestly, surprising Davina greatly. "The great game is not a thing I ever wanted any of you to partake in."

"I am your daughter, Mother. I am a Lannister, perhaps solely Lannister, and ambition runs through my veins as surely as blood...but here is where I differ from you lot - that ambition is tempered by my morality. I do not seek the throne to satisfy my own quest for power or thirst for blood. I do so in order to protect the people of the Seven Kingdoms, from both foreign and domestic threats until my dying day. Something that Father, Joffrey, Grandfather, and even you could never understand. You worry about the future, but only because of what it would or could mean for this family and our grip on the Iron Throne. I care about the people of the Realm, no matter their status or monetary wealth, and I will not allow someone as blind and inexperienced as Joffrey to sit on _my_ throne and plunge the Kingdoms into chaos."

After her passionate rant, Davina feared that Cersei would scold her for doubting her brother's capabilities or claim that she was reaching too high, far, far above her station, but she did neither. Instead, she almost seemed...proud?

Cersei hardly ever seemed pleased with her lately, not since she'd been told by Qyburn - a former maester exiled from the Citadel she'd found to discover what had been wrong with her daughter - that Davina possessed otherworldly power that could prove difficult to control if not managed correctly. She'd locked Davina away in a tower at Casterly Rock while Tywin had been doing business in Braavos, claiming that the cure to Davina's mysterious illness was simply a change of scenery, forcing her to read the manuscripts Qyburn had gathered for her. She'd left her there for weeks on end until she decided that Davina had a handle on her magic and had sent Jaime to bring her back, keeping the reasoning behind Davina's prolonged visit to their ancestral home a secret, even from him.

She suspected he'd since learned of it if his lack of confusion at her outburst on the beach was any indicator.

"If it were left up to spirit alone, there would be no doubt in my mind that you are Lannister through and through without a drop of Baratheon blood flowing through your veins. At times, I catch glimpses of him, in your smiles, your laugh, the way your eyebrows furrow when you're cross, and I say to myself, _she must be ours..._ " Her expression fell as her eyes traveled to Davina's golden brown waves which were splayed out on the grass around her head like a halo. Reaching out, she stroked the silky strands, much like she'd done when Davina was a child.

"But then I see this, neither black nor gold, and that certainty fades away just as quickly as it'd come." The solemness of Cersei's tone pulled on her daughter's heart strings. Davina had never stopped to contemplate how the uncertainty of her parentage had affected her mother. To look on your own child and not know which man had given them life was a burden Davina couldn't imagine, and Cersei must've been constantly plagued by it since she'd been handed to her nearly sixteen years prior.

"Sweetheart, just because I'm unsure if you're half Baratheon or all Lannister does not mean I love you any less. You are my child, regardless of who your father is, and everything I've ever done, I have done because I believed them to be within your best interests. And I will continue to do so..." Davina's hopeful expression began to fade as she realized exactly where Cersei was headed.

"Which is why I will never support your claim to the throne, no matter what Robert Baratheon says. You think it's so easy, so simple, but even you would fall victim to it, as so many have before you. Your grandfather will dig his claws in, as will Stannis and Renly, along with Lord Baelish and Varys, and they will rip you apart as surely as I am telling you this." Davina moved to argue that she was stronger than Cersei thought, but her mother silenced her before she could speak the words.

"I know how capable you are. I have seen great potential in you far longer than anyone else, but I will not allow your life to be wasted in pursuit of something which will undoubtedly be your ruin. I care about you far too much to watch you destroy yourself."

"You'd refuse me, but you would willingly have Joff inherit the Seven Kingdoms?" Davina asked incredulously. "What does he possess that I lack? Certainly not bravery, or honor, or-"

"He listens to me," Cersei interrupted, "whereas you do not."

"But for how much longer, Mother? Someday soon, Joff will realize the extent of his own power, and your word will mean nothing if it prevents him from getting what he wants. He will become a nightmare, simply because you've coddled him so much that he believes himself to be without fault, and that is the most terrifying character trait a King could possess." Cersei's previously soft expression had now hardened at Davina's accusation.

She stood, glancing down on her daughter with a look that made Davina want to disappear inside of herself. "The matter is closed and not open for discussion. You will not have my support, and that is final." And with that, Cersei turned and strode away, leaving Davina to openly glare at her mother's back until she was out of sight.

* * *

They'd been riding for Winterfell near a fortnight at an agonizingly slow pace when Davina finally could handle it no longer. She felt trapped, suffocated by her mother's unwavering gaze on her back as she rode only a handful of paces in front of the royal carriage where Cersei, Myrcella, and Tommen resided, the later two of which were probably entertaining themselves as only children could do. She was positioned on the King's right side per his request, something that struck her as terribly odd.

Traditionally, the King's heir was to ride at his side, so to have her riding there instead of Joffrey truly spoke wonders as to how seriously he was considering her claim to the throne. Even though he had verbalized nothing when he'd requested her to do so just before they'd departed from King's Landing, many had understood the ramifications and the deeper meaning behind it.

She released the reins with one hand so that she might brush back the shorter, unruly strands of her bronze mane that had escaped her braid and were now blowing every which way in the biting wind, so different from the sunny, temperate atmosphere she'd grown accustomed to.

They'd just passed through the Twins earlier that day, which belonged to Walder Frey, an older lord loyal to both her father and Kol's mother's House, House Tully. She'd done her best to ignore the elder man as his lecherous gaze had swept over her, even as he'd possessively held his new wife - a girl who couldn't be much older than herself - making her feel absolutely filthy. If the King had noticed, he had said nothing, but her mother certainly had, as well as her uncle and the Hound.

All three had warned the ninety year old that he was practically undressing her with his eyes, and that she'd definitely noticed, with great displeasure. Her mother, despite opposing her claim to the throne, had not so kindly reminded Lord Frey that he was disrespecting a girl that could very likely become his next sovereign, and Davina would remember it as surely as the Sun would set that night and rise come the morrow.

Lord Frey had immediately turned his attention from her and returned it fully to his new wife, who looked positively miserable and no doubt reviled her husband's advances, which had made Davina release a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. She'd then met her mother's eyes and, even though they hadn't spoken since that day in the gardens, she'd nodded in gratitude before pulling Rose up between her uncle and the Hound and quietly thanking them for protecting her honor as well.

Jaime had made a joke about how she could always personally remove the Lord's eyes from his head if he ever dared look her way again while the Hound had simply bowed his head, accepting her thanks graciously. Even though the man still frightened her at times, he was far, far more personable than his older, monstrous brother.

She'd offered them both a smile before the King had summoned her back to his side, labeling her as his favored child in the process. At Joffrey's indignant huff in response, she'd merely smirked in her younger golden brother's direction before urging Rose into a brief canter in order to catch her father.

Several hours later, she was growing tired of the mundane pace and her father's constant vulgar rambling with his Kingsguard surrounding them. She'd attempted to engage in it at first, trying to create some common ground between them, but all he talked about were war stories from the Rebellion, women he'd fucked in the days leading up to their departure, and how he couldn't wait to hunt in the Northern wilderness surrounding Winterfell.

She'd agreed to join his hunting party with the hopes that, if everything went according to planned and Robert accepted her choosing Kol instead of Robb as her betrothed, her love would be able to accompany them so they would be able to sneak away, just for a little while. Long enough to tell him about her possible bastard status and her unique abilities, no doubt against her mother's wishes and wants, which he fully deserved to know.

He needed to know just who he was marrying, and what he was marrying into. She'd be lying to herself if she didn't fear his reaction - he could take one look, see her for the disgusting, horrid thing she could be, and end it all then and there. With her confession, she could stand to lose everything, or she could gain his absolute trust and complete devotion. She prayed to whichever of the Seven would listen that it would be the later.

As another strong gust of wind blew by, further exacerbating her general annoyance at everything - she supposed she could attribute that to her moon blood's expected appearance within the next few days - she let out a barely audible sigh of frustration before taking Rose's reins between her clenched fists and turning to Robert.

"Your Grace, I apologize for asking so forwardly, but may I ride on ahead? The pace is boring me and I am in desperate need of some entertainment." She didn't care if she sounded disrespectful at this point - she just needed to get away. If she didn't do something soon, she was liable to make her frustrations blatantly obvious, and she couldn't have that.

Her father's icy blue gaze studied her for a moment in silence before his rounded features melted into a grin. "A girl after my own heart. At least I have one of you that isn't entirely boring." The comment was spoken loud enough for Joff to hear, as well as Myrcella and Tommen, though they were probably too preoccupied with whatever game they'd discovered. She couldn't help but smirk as she imagined the indignant, self righteous little bastard's face at that moment.

"Go, Davina," he urged before turning in his saddle to look back towards the carriage. She nodded in thanks, even though he couldn't see her, as she reached up and undid her simple plait, letting her bronze waves fall free of their confines. "Kingslayer!" he bellowed as Davina kicked Rose's sides hard, sending her into a canter that quickly turned into a gallop she knew her Dornish mare could hold for hours without tiring.

She was out of range before hearing Jaime's reply, but there was no doubt Robert had sent him after her and was hot on her heels, though she was almost positive he would not be able to catch her while weighed down in his suit of armor. Despite missing him greatly - having not talked privately with him since that day on the beach where she'd threatened to personally remove his prized sword wielding hand from his body if he came near her again before ripping off her beloved golden lion pendant and tossing it to her mother's feet in disgust - she still had not forgiven him for the years of lies, and who could blame her?

He'd had countless opportunities to confess to her, yet he'd kept it to himself. The rational woman in her had been screaming for weeks that he'd only done so to protect her, but the child was not so forgiving.

So, she refused to look back, opting instead to keep her eyes on the King's Road as she and Jaime lengthened the distance between themselves and the royal party.

* * *

The Sun was just beginning it's descent in the sky when Davina finally pulled Rose up as they approached a sizeable stream. If it'd been small enough, she would've taken her chances and had her mare simply jump from one bank to the other, but it was slightly too wide for that. She wasn't foolish or uncaring enough to risk her mare's life just because she wanted to avoid talking to her uncle, who could very well also be the man who'd given her life, for as long as possible.

Davina studied the stream as she heard Jaime's horse approaching from behind, laboring much more than Rose was. Her horse hadn't even broken a sweat whereas his was breathing heavily. Idly, she wondered how long it would take for his mount to give out. If she merely kept riding after that, she would be at the gates of Winterfell in less than a week's time, far sooner than she would be if she stayed with the rest of the procession.

"We should find a safer crossing point," he said as he slowly pulled his white stallion up beside her smaller mare, and her dreams of leaving him behind vanished as quickly as they'd appeared. She bit her lip, not wanting to admit he was right. While it wasn't particularly deep, the current was strong and, from what she could see of the bottom, riddled with rocks that she or her horse could twist their ankle upon if they tried crossing on foot.

Reluctantly, she nodded and steered Rose to the right, intending on going around her uncle and continuing on her way when he used his own horse's superior size to block her path. She scowled in his direction, but he held his ground.

"You can't ignore me forever, Davina." She rolled her eyes before trying to pass him for the second time, only for him to block her yet again. She shot him a clearly unamused look, which he merely shrugged to in response.

He was right - if she wished him to eventually be Lord Commander of her Kingsguard after Ser Barristan passed on, she had to learn how to at least be amiable with him.

After several moments of silence, she exhaled heavily in frustration before conceding.

"Fine."

* * *

"Did you know that you had an older brother?" Davina's emerald Lannister eyes, that had been focused straight ahead, swung to meet his without her permission. She'd known that there had been a boy born before her, but she'd never been told his name or what exactly had taken him from this world. Neither of her parents willingly discussed it, even when she'd asked as a child, so eventually she'd just stopped asking. The pain in their eyes every time she'd broached the subject said more than a thousand words could.

"I know, even though neither of them would talk about him. Lord Arryn told me that he looked just like the King." Looking back on it, she wondered how long the Hand had suspected of her mother's infidelity. Perhaps that very conversation had planted the seed of doubt in his mind.

"That he did. Black haired with blue eyes, a Baratheon through and through...I remember storming out of the birthing room at the sight of him, ignoring your mother's cries of apology." Davina quietly waited for Jaime to continue. While the thought of them together still turned her stomach, she swore to herself in that moment to put forth an effort to understand the Lannister twins and perhaps even support them, for what else could she do?

"The first year of her marriage, she'd put forth effort, even though that drunken pig did not, and it had caused a rift of sorts to divide us, moreso still when she learned she was with his child. When her time came, we were barely on speaking terms. Your royal father," he practically spat the title, "fled to the Kingswood the moment he knew, as he did for all of your births, leaving her alone with Pycelle and a handful of servants. I'd intended to stay away, to keep my distance, but then one of her servants came to me, telling me she demanded to see me," he chuckled lightly under his breath.

"If you have not realized, Davina, much like with you, I can deny her nothing. So, I went to her, ignoring propriety and tradition, and there I stayed until she gave birth."

"What happened to him?" she asked, genuinely curious. In a different world, had the child, her own brother, the one true Baratheon, lived, how much would be different?

"Fever," he answered simply. "He caught it soon after his birth, but he fought a whole month before it took him." He shook his head sadly. "Your mother was inconsolable, as was the King. I wasn't present when they took his body away, but I heard her screams of anguish and the sounds of him beating his fists bloody on the stone wall of the room."

Davina gently brushed a stray strand of her bronze waves behind her ear as it blew across her face due to the wind. The sun was close to setting and the wind had picked up anew. Jaime noticed her shiver slightly in response to the biting breeze.

"I think we've gone far enough. Let's make camp and wait for the rest to catch up," he suggested. She nodded readily, eager to have a fire to warm her chilled hands.

* * *

Davina stared into the flames absently as Jaime added more kindling to feed the fire. The sun had disappeared beneath the horizon about half an hour before, and the royal party would be upon them within the hour. She'd been mostly silent since discussing her older brother's birth and fate, mulling over all of what the older Lannister had said thoughtfully. After hearing of his reaction to his birth, she couldn't help but wonder how he'd reacted the moment he'd seen her.

Had he stormed out like he had with the first child his sister had born, a child that certainly was not his, or had he given her the benefit of the doubt and considered the possibility of her being his despite her not possessing any physical Lannister trait besides her eyes? She glanced up in time to see him sit next to her, several feet between them, and she found she had to know, even if his answer pained her.

Even though she was still not thrilled at the prospect of being the product of incest, the thought of Jaime having a hand in giving her life warmed her in a way she'd never imagined. He had always held a special place in her heart that Robert could never dare reach himself, and it was now she realized that, while Robert was supposedly her biological father, Jaime had filled the role a thousand times over. He, at least in her heart, was more her father than the King had ever been.

It was his approval she sought out the most and valued above all others. She respected and trusted him, knowing on an almost instinctual level that his hand in the Mad King's death was so much more than a Kingsguard simply betraying his sworn oath. He'd never said as much, but she knew there was a deeper, more noble reason than the one he gave to everyone who dared ask about it.

People called him _Kingslayer_ and _Oathbreaker,_ and while he hid it well, she could see the slight tension in his shoulders when he was referred to in such a manner. Whenever she was present, she'd feel a sharp pang deep in her soul for him, because while some viewed it as a joke, she saw it for what it really was - one of the greatest insults a knight of his stature could be given.

"Jaime?" she asked hesitantly, waiting until she was sure he was looking her way - she was looking into the flames again, not wanting him to see the hurt flash in her green eyes when he told her he'd rejected her at birth also - before garnering the courage to ask. "You said you were with Mother when she gave birth to the King's true son..." she swallowed thickly, but gave no other indication of her nervousness that he could discern. "Were you there for mine?"

Her voice trembled slightly, and she bit her lip in response as she waited for the inevitable. _Of course he had_ , she chastised herself, _even if you are his, how would he have known it then?_ He probably took one look at her bronze mane and had left Cersei alone with her while her mother had cried softly over allowing Robert to come between them again. While the birth of her first child, the boy she'd subsequently lost, more than likely ranked as the most bittersweet day of her life, the day of Davina's own birth was probably a close second.

"Yes," he answered simply, and as the seconds ticked by, Davina's fear grew and grew until he finally carried on. "Your mother had told me she was with child as soon as she was sure, before anyone else, claiming you were undeniably ours, despite Robert having forced himself upon her around the time of your conception." Davina felt like he tongue was made of lead at that admission. Before, if she was in fact Robert's and not Jaime's, at least she was legitimate, but now, she was either the product of incest or rape, and only the Gods knew for sure.

It made her feel dirtier still, knowing that neither possible conception was how the Gods intended, and she felt the sudden rush of tears well in her eyes, illuminating themselves in the firelight, even as she refused to let them fall.

"Admittedly, I was not as enthused as a man should when learning he had fathered a child, but as weeks grew to months, and you along with them, your mother coaxed more involvement from me. I was still not overly excited, mind you, but I put forth an effort at least. When the day of your birth came, the King fled to the Kingswood as he had before, leaving me by your mother's side. She labored just over a day to bring you into this world, more than she had with her first, but substantially less than with your younger brother."

She knew full well that Cersei had suffered a day and a half before giving Joffrey life. Even from the beginning he'd been difficult it seemed, and had only grown worse as he'd aged.

"By the time you were finally ready, she was exhausted. The pains were greater than with the first birth and she was on the brink of giving up when Pycelle announced you were finally coming. I've never seen her so determined - she'd already lost one child, through no fault of her own, and she wasn't about to allow you to be taken from her if she could help it. The scream she let forth as she delivered you will be forever burned in my memory."

"I was so worried about her that I hadn't realized you weren't crying until Pycelle hurriedly handed you off to one of the midwives, barking orders at the lot of them as he did so. Your mother was just lucid enough to ask me why you weren't crying, and at the time, I was more concerned with her survival than yours." She was surprised his confession didn't sting as it should have, perhaps because she was interested more in his personal account of her birth than the technicalities of it all.

"What was wrong with me?" she asked, this being the first time she'd heard of it.

"Pycelle instructed the midwife that had taken you from his arms on how to revive you-"

"Revive me?" she interrupted with raised brows. As far as anyone had told her, she'd been the easiest birth out of her living siblings. She'd never heard Jaime's version of events before, and was suddenly even more thankful she'd asked.

"Apparently your heart had stopped beating. Not uncommon, or so Pycelle said, but not something that occurred often either. Thankfully, before your mother regained enough sense to realize what was happening, you let out a cry that almost echoed hers as she brought you into this world. I remember thinking, _such a mighty roar for a tiny cub_ ," she smiled at the grin that graced his features, a smile that he had possibly given to her, at the comparison. She had always viewed herself as more of a lion anyways, even before questioning her parentage.

"Pycelle wrapped you in a blanket, placed you in your mother's waiting arms, and proceeded to usher the midwives out of the room, leaving the three of us alone. As you looked up for the first time, Cersei marveled at the color of your eyes - the most radiant green, even at birth - saying they were mine, that I had given them to you. Of course, I argued that my eyes were the same as hers, but she would hear none of it. They were _mine_ , you were _ours_ , and everything was finally right with the world. She was happier than I think I have ever seen her in that moment." His smile began to fall then, and she knew this was the part of his story that would shatter her heart into a thousand pieces.

"And then she pushed the blanket back to reveal your hair, a thick mass of bloody bronze colored curls, and her joy withered almost instantly. My own heart dropped at the sight, even though I still cared less than I should have, and I turned to leave, angrier at myself that I had failed her, failed us, by letting that bastard plant another seed within her, when your tiny little fist shot out and grasped the smallest finger on my sword hand with such a surprising display of strength, it caught me completely off guard. You looked me right in the eye with a degree of intelligence well beyond your age, and you smiled. You were so unbelievably pure, so perfect, and in that moment you managed to capture the thing that only one other had - my heart."

She looked up from the flames to meet his eyes, so like hers, that were shining with such a degree of uninhibited, unrestrained love, it caused a lump to form in her throat. Even in all the time they'd spent together over the years, during all the lessons and laughter, she'd never truly seen the full extent of how much he cared for her.

"I'd always assumed that once Cersei had a child, whether it was mine or not, I would inevitably lose her," he chuckled quietly before shaking his head at his own naivety. "It wasn't until that moment that I truly understood what my sister had experienced during her first pregnancy...The child hadn't replaced me, just as you wouldn't, her heart had just grown to accommodate it, as mine did for you. It didn't matter to me what the color of your mane was, I found, and I smiled back, causing you to giggle, so perfect, like a little bell. Your mother watched us, a smile of her own growing, and she told me that you had my smile and my laugh - a silent acknowledgement that she viewed you as ours, no matter what the truth really was - and then called you her precious little bronze cub. She predicted you would grow up to be a lioness, as strong and as fierce as the bravest lion, before naming you."

Davina's brows furrowed. "I thought the King named me." At least, that's what she'd always assumed. It was tradition for the father, especially if he were the King, to name his heirs. Jaime shook his head.

"No, that was entirely Cersei...with my approval. Robert came in not too long after, multiple pelts draped over his shoulder - fruits from his hunt - and you were presented to him. He seemed less than enthusiastic at the prospect of having a daughter for his firstborn, and you paid him little to no mind, focusing your waning attention on your mother and I. He barely batted an eye upon learning you'd already been given a name and gruffly agreed to it before storming out."

Jaime account of her father's reaction didn't surprise or affect her much - she'd known her birth hadn't brought him any joy seeing as how she wasn't the heir he'd wanted. Still, she suspected his reaction to Joffrey was about the same. Poor Myrcella had probably only received a glance from him, and Tommen even less than that.

Robert had never been loving or particularly fond of any of them, though he did favor her above her younger siblings, if only slightly, but she suspected that favoritism was growing by the day with how he'd been treating Joff as of late.

"When the time came for your brother, I expected to feel that same spark inside me that you'd ignited, but no matter how hard I tried...I just couldn't. Myrcella and Tommen stirred something within me, but it paled in comparison to you. As you grew, I couldn't help but see both Cersei and I in you - you'd inherited her stubbornness and pension to act out when treated unfairly and it appeared you developed a recklessness that rivaled my own."

They both smiled as they remembered her jumping from the cliffs of Casterly Rock on a trip there. She'd only been eight, and Joffrey had dared her to. Little had she known at the time, but as she'd snuck away from Jaime and Cersei - her Lord father had declined her grandfather's invitation, which had suited them all just fine - who'd been busy watching Myrcella and Tommen as they'd toddled around in the sand on their tiny little legs, and climbed up the cliff, she'd ended up picking the very spot Jaime had jumped from as a child.

Her mother hadn't realized what she'd been up to until she'd already leapt from the edge, refusing to give Joff the satisfaction of screaming on the way down. She'd emerged from the waves with a victorious smile and her laughter had carried all the way to shore, letting her mother and uncle know she was alright.

Needless to say, she'd suffered through a scolding from her mother as soon as she'd reached the beach, followed by a drawn out lecture by her grandfather on how a Princess shouldn't act like such a fool.

"Davina...I know how uncomfortable your mother and I's...the love we bear each other, makes you-" she interrupted him by shaking her head. Her clear rejection of him on the beach the day of Jon Arryn's burial had clearly stuck with him, and he was right - she still was slightly disgusted by it, but who was she to cast the first stone when she was far from perfect herself?

"We don't choose whom we love. Even though I might find it..." she trailed off as she searched for the right word, one that wouldn't offend him, "...odd, I can't fault you for something you had no control over." She smiled then, thinking of Kol and how her love for him had taken ahold of her heart before she'd even known what true love was.

Some could pinpoint the exact moment they'd fallen in love with their better half - though marrying for love seemed far less common than it should've been - but for her, there'd been no exact moment that had made her care for him. She suspected she'd felt something from the moment they'd first laid eyes on each other - she uncharacteristically hiding behind her mother's skirts while he gazed upon her with an expression of clear wonderment - and it had only grown from there.

The few months they'd spent together, they'd been practically inseparable, and though they had fought openly on many occasions, the bond of friendship they'd forged had planted the seed of a love that would put the most beautiful of songs to shame.

Realizing she'd allowed her attention to drift to thoughts of him, she refocused it onto Jaime, who was watching her with an understanding, yet bittersweet expression.

"This Stark boy," he finally ventured hesitantly, "do you love him?" She nodded without even a moment's hesitation. Of course she loved Kol...she had for so long that he was irrevocably a part of her. Sometimes she didn't know where she ended and he began

"I do, much like I suspect you love Mother," she answered simply. Jaime looked away, perhaps trying to come to terms with the fact that she practically a woman grown, his chiseled features illuminated in the light of the flames. Myrcella looked so much like him, she realized, practically a mirror image. How had she not recognized the truth sooner?

"Well then," he murmured finally, meeting her eyes. "I can't promise anything, but I will try my best to like him, if you're so keen on marrying him." The slight laugh that burst forth from her throat, entirely unbidden, caused one of his own, and as her eyes watered, she closed the distance between them and laid her head on his shoulder in silent thanks.

They didn't need words, for they understood each other as only two sides of the same coin could. She wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but the embrace lasted until the moon had risen to it's highest point in the sky and the royal procession appeared in the distance. Only then did they pull away reluctantly for fear of being seen, but Davina knew in her heart that if their relationship had been strong before, now it was virtually unbreakable, and she took comfort in it.

* * *

She felt her heart begin to beat rapidly as they passed through the gates of Winterfell at last. It'd been a fortnight since she and Jaime's heart to heart, and after a laborious trek through the rough Northern countryside, they'd finally arrived. Earlier that morning, she'd quietly confessed the nature of she and Kol's relationship to Robert, begging his forgiveness and apologizing profusely for the deception.

When he'd inquired of her feelings, she'd answered truthfully, slightly terrified of how he would handle the news. Surprisingly, he'd been delighted to hear of it, laughing heartily before asking her if she was sure she wanted Kol and not his brother, Robb, their father's heir. Robert no doubt had his eyes on Winterfell and, subsequently the North itself, but she'd reminded him he'd promised her a choice and Kol was it. She would have no one else.

He'd chuckled at her stubbornness - strange, since it was a trait she'd inherited from her mother that he loathed - before announcing to the the entire procession that she'd chosen the second eldest Stark pup as her husband. She hadn't dared look back to see her mother's reaction, but she could feel her eyes burning into her regardless. Cersei wouldn't have been happy either way, but her decision cemented it's coming to pass and made it a reality.

Davina couldn't help but smile as the royal carriage carrying her mother and her two youngest siblings entered into the courtyard of the Stark ancestral home just in front of them. Robert had chosen to ride behind it for his grand entry, flanked by Davina and surrounded by his Kingsguard. Jaime had ridden ahead of the carriage, protecting Joffrey's front while the Hound had guarded his back. Both Baratheon children were adorned in nearly identical crimson and black garb, the only noticeable difference between them being their hair color.

This far North, even Joffrey's seemingly gleaming golden mane failed to shine, which meant Davina's bronze waves appeared even darker than they were normally, giving her the appearance of a true Baratheon heir until one ventured close enough to see the unmistakable Lannister eyes staring back at them.

She'd taken extra care of preparing herself in the tent this morning. The night before, she'd bathed for what felt like the first time in far too long, wanting to make sure she was at the very least presentable for her reunion with Kol. Though she'd had her hair tied back in a braid for most of the journey, today she'd let the increasingly unruly strands fall freely down to the small of her back, save for the first several layers, which were pulled back and interwoven together in a more Northern way - at least that's what Joffrey had called it as soon as she'd stepped out of her tent that morning, clearly meant as an insult. She'd added strands to the braid as she'd worked her way down, stopping when she'd reached the crown of her head, and had classically plaited whatever hair she'd gathered the rest of the way.

Personally, she thought it looked rather regal in a wild sort of way, like she was a warrior Queen of the North - which she likely very well could be one day should anything happen to Robb and he left the world without heirs, making Kol the Warden of the North as well as her King - heading into battle. She couldn't help but smile at the thought, hoping Kol would find it somewhat appealing. If he did, she could certainly be bribed to wear it like so more often once they returned to King's Landing.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity and then some, the carriage veered to the right so that she and Robert could enter into the main courtyard of Winterfell. Her eyes immediately went to the Stark family as they waited to greet their King, her heartbeat increasing still as she realized she was mere moments away from being in her love's presence at long last.

Lord Eddard Stark, head of his House and Kol's noble father, was a hard man to miss. He had aged accordingly from the last time she'd seen him, though much better than Robert had. Where her lord father had become increasingly rotund over the past nine years, Kol's had aged incredibly well and was still in good form. Even from a distance, she saw a kindness in his eyes - which Kol had managed to inherit - that set her at ease. She'd be lying if she denied feeling nervous upon meeting his parents and siblings. They were to be her family soon, after all.

A woman stood at his side, beautiful with long, red hair, who Davina instantly recognized as Catelyn Stark, his mother. The stories of the woman's love for her children reminded her much of her own mother's, and Davina was bound and determined to prove herself and worm her way into Catelyn's heart.

On Ned's other side stood a boy only a year or two older than herself with dark, auburn tinted hair and water blue eyes. _Robb,_ her mind whispered. Despite never having met the eldest Stark, Kol had done an impressive job thoroughly describing each of his family member's personalities and physical appearances over the years, making it almost too easy for her to put a name with the correct face. He bore the same kindness in his looks and overall presence as his father.

Next to Robb stood Sansa, Kol's younger sister who'd been born a handful of years after him. She was the spitting image of her mother, and Davina couldn't help but think she would grow to be a great beauty, perhaps even rivaling that of her own, but then she felt a sharp pang of sympathy for her, as she realized Sansa was more than likely Joffrey's intended. The poor girl had no idea what a monster the Prince was, and, seeing as though her brother was already trying to woo her, looking every bit the gallant young gentleman he was supposed to be, Davina made the decision to befriend her. Sister-in-law or not, Sansa would need someone if she were bound to Joffrey before the gods, and Davina was more than willing to fill that role if the need arose.

Arya came next, the younger of the two Stark sisters, and Davina couldn't help the excitement that rose within her at the prospect of becoming an older sister to the girl. From what Kol had told her in his letters, she and Arya were cut from the same cloth. While most girls, like Sansa and Myrcella, strove to meet society's expectations eagerly, Davina and Arya tended to shy away from them entirely. The two of them would rather be knights than ladies, but fate hadn't been on their side. She looked forward to bonding with the girl, perhaps through swordplay lessons as she had with Jaime. Like Kol, Arya's hair was darker, though not the practically ebony shade of Robb's, and the mischief in her eyes clearly echoed that of her older brother's.

A young boy who couldn't have been a year Arya's junior stood on her right, his dark hair and facial features greatly resembling his older brother's. _Bran._ The tales of he and Arya butting heads reminded Davina of she and Joffrey, though neither Stark sibling harboured any true ill will towards the other. In their case, they argued and fought because they were so close in age, and while some could argue it was the same for she and Joffrey, Davina knew better. Joffrey was a monster molded by their mother's hands. Nothing she could do or say would endear him to her or the other way around, and frankly, after everything, she couldn't care less if he felt anything towards her besides hatred.

The feeling was certainly mutual.

Lastly, a boy, the youngest of the Stark clan, Rickon, stood by his mother's side. Unlike his older siblings, his hair was neither ebony, chocolate, or crimson, but a lighter, softer shade not unlike her own.

She frowned then, unable to find Kol in the line up. A pit formed in her stomach as she pulled Rose in between Jaime and Joffrey's horses, leaving Robert's side so that he could dismount and garner the attention of every eye in attendance. Where in the name of the Seven was he? She began looking around frantically, her agitation growing more and more noticeable as tears pricked the backs of her eyes.

Had he forsaken her after all? Were all the years spent planning and dreaming been for naught? She felt Jaime's eyes on her, obviously having sensed her distress. She worriedly her bottom lip with her teeth as she felt her entire world begin to cave in around her. Kol was supposed to be it for her - her past, her future, her best friend, her lover, her husband, the father of her children, her King. As she searched inside herself, she saw that, without him, she didn't know who she was. Since childhood he'd somehow become a part of her, that, if taken away, would not allow her to function properly, if at all.

Her knuckles turned white as she dug her fingers into Rose's mane, trying to anchor herself to something, anything, before she did something foolish that would earn her father's displeasure or disrespect their hosts. Joffrey chose that moment to lean over in his saddle, and, in a whisper barely audible to anyone but she and Jaime, mock her.

"Looks like your future husband found better things to do than to meet you," he murmured venomously. "He's probably off fucking a Northern whore right now, relishing in his last day of true freedom before he's sentenced to a lifetime of being married to you." Normally, Joffrey's harsh words would glide right off her back the moment he spat them in her direction, but, her brother had also always had a knack for striking when she was at her most vulnerable, and this was perhaps the most vulnerable she'd ever been.

She couldn't help the solitary tear that slid down her cheek, or miss the victorious grin on her brother's face at the sight. His evil expression, however, angered her so greatly that she simply wiped it away and cleared her throat before holding her head high once more.

 _I will not appear weak,_ she chanted to herself as her father dismounted, causing the Starks and their vassals and servants to kneel before him. _I will not appear weak._ Once Robert stood in front of the Stark family, he motioned for Eddard to rise with a simple gesture, and he did, followed by the rest of his family. _I will not appear weak._ Faintly, she heard her father call Kol's fat, and then the two old friends erupt in laughter. _I will not appear weak._ Her father greeted Catelyn and went down the line - patting Rickon on the head, shaking Robb's hand, complementing Sansa on her beauty, asking Arya's name, and promising Bran he'd be a fighter while displaying a degree of fatherly attention he'd never graced any of his own children with.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother emerge from the carriage, followed closely by Mrycella and Tommen, her little cubs. _I will not appear weak._ Jaime dismounted then and removed his helmet. _I will not appear weak._ He held Rose's reins, steadying her as she mechanically swung her leg over and dropped to the ground. Beside her, Joffrey was doing the same, though he had help. If she were feeling up to it, she would've rolled her eyes at the golden Prince, of course, always being coddled by all those around him.

 _I will not appear weak._ Vacantly, as she began making her way to stand with Myrcella and Tommen, a few paces behind Joffrey, she heard her father ask about Kol's whereabouts. Steeling herself for the absolute worst, she bit her tongue hard and repeated the mantra with even more vigor than before, hoping it would drown out whatever reasoning Lord Stark gave for his son's absence.

 _I will not appear weak. I will not appear weak. I will not appear weak. I will-_

"Davina!" Her head whipped to the right so hard she knew she would feel the pain of it later, but in that moment, she couldn't bring herself to care, because less than twenty paces away from her stood a boy about her age with dark hair and soulful brown eyes that radiated kindness. Even from a distance, she could tell he would tower over her - most did, but the last time they'd seen each other, he'd actually been slightly shorter than her - and was built more like a man than a boy.

She absorbed every detail she could make out of his face - his chiseled, sharp features, dark, shapely brows, angular chin, defined cheekbones, the beginnings of a beard like his father's gracing his face, enhancing his already disarmingly good looks in a way that made her ache deep within her bones.

He was absolutely perfect, the spitting image of a King, a thousand times more handsome than she had ever dreamed, and he was _hers_.

The answering smile that spread across her features put the Sun itself to shame as she looked upon Kol, and he gazed back in a wonderment that mirrored their first meeting some nine years before, only this time enhanced a thousandfold.

As they stood there, in clear awe of each other, her eyes ventured down to see he had a small bouquet of winter roses clutched in his fist. The tears that welled in her eyes this time had nothing to do with the empty feeling that had taken hold of her mere minutes before as she realized why he hadn't been there to greet her.

 _He'd been picking her flowers._

She almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of her reaction to his absence. Of course he'd been doing such a romantic thing - she should've expected no less from him.

She didn't know if he'd been the first to move or if she had, but she found herself striding towards him without making the conscious decision to, like a moth drawn to the flame or two magnets attracting each other. She threw her arms around his neck as his went around her waist, both clutching each other as tightly as possible without causing the other pain.

They didn't pay any mind to the hundreds of eyes on them as their worlds narrowed until all they felt was the other. Every crevice and dip of his form melded perfectly into the curves of hers and she felt more alive than she ever had. Her twin flame, her kindred soul, her light in the darkness, her home.

After an indeterminable amount of time, they pull back slightly so that their foreheads were pressed together, her hand on his rough cheek and his buried in her dark mane at the base of her skull, cradling her head. She knew every eye in the courtyard was on them, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Nothing could separate them now. After the years of waiting patiently, longing to be reunited, the day had finally come. They were together, at long last, and that was all that mattered.

She opened her eyes to find twin pools of mahogany staring back at her, full of an adoration so tangible, it stole the air from her lungs. A ghost of a smile graced his handsome features as their eyes met, a slight chuckle emanating from his throat. She shot him a look, questioning what he found so funny, and this only caused his laughter to become more audible. She scowled indignantly, fighting the urge to cross her arms across her chest as she realized she was the source of his amusement.

"What?"

He bit his lip momentarily, still fighting to rein in his laughter, before shaking his head. "Were you always so short?" Her eyes widened for a split second before she joined in his merriment, though there was a dangerous edge to the sound, her look of disbelief only egging him on. He pulled away slightly so that he could stand to his full height, as if to rub it in further.

She practically glared daggers as she now had to tilt her chin to be able to look him in the eye, but Kol knew it was all in good fun. Still, he noted that he never wanted to be on his love's bad side, for if this was her at play, how would she be when truly angry?

"I recall towering over you once," she said with a smirk. He rolled his eyes at this, though couldn't wipe the smile from his face.

"I hardly call half an inch 'towering over me', love," he said teasingly, stroking her smooth cheek with his hand, even as she scowled at him. She couldn't be more beautiful in that moment - cheeks rosy from the cold, hair blown haphazardly in the wind, lips chapped, emerald eyes radiating an astonishing amount of joy underneath a light sheen of annoyance.

"Still, let it be well known I was taller once," she insisted, her expression and tone shifting to more of a playful one. He wasn't about to let her win that easily, however.

"Nine name days ago!" he argued back, and she was smiling now, just as blindingly as she had before they'd embraced. If possible, his heart warmed even more at the sight, giving the sensation that his insides were aflame. She then paused for a moment, as if remembering something, and reached inside her furs, withdrawing a folded up piece of parchment, reminiscent of the letters they'd exchanged over the years.

"What's this?" he asked as she handed it to him. She glanced down at it before looking into his eyes once more.

"Open it," was all she could muster, fighting back the grin that was threatening to blossom across her face as he set to work on breaking her own personal seal - a lioness bearing antlers with a crown adorning it's neck. She had created it after her thirteenth name day, deciding that if she were to be Queen, she must have a sigil that distinguished itself from all others, Joff's included, which was just the Baratheon stag and Lannister lion combined in a rather non-creative manner.

She'd striven to be a bit more unique with her design, much to Joffrey's frustration. When presenting it to her lord father and lady mother during a family dinner one night, he'd sneered upon first glance, but his hatred clearly belied the jealousy he'd striven to mask. Robert had complimented it with a passing glance, much too focused on his wine to pay attention to any of his children, but Cersei had studied it carefully before a prideful smile had graced her face.

She'd openly praised her for her creativity, kissed her forehead, and then sent the two of them to bed. Tommen, then six, and Myrcella, eight, had already been escorted to their chambers some half hour earlier, leaving just the eldest two Baratheon children with their parents. On the way to her rooms, she'd bragged to Joffrey about how their mother had preferred hers to his, and he'd responded by calling her a "little cunt" before attempting to slap her for upstaging him.

He'd ended up with his face pressed to a wall and her hand around the back of his neck. She'd threatened to give him a nice black and blue cheek if he ever called her that again, to which he'd sneered that "mother would have you hanged if you ever laid a finger on me". All it'd taken was a slight increase of pressure on the back of his neck, a silent warning, for him to beg her forgiveness and promise to never do it again.

The sound of the parchment unfolding in her future husband's hands brought her back from her reverie, and as he looked, perplexed, she couldn't help but release a giggle at his expression. He flipped it over, checking to see if there was anything written there, but found nothing.

"It's blank," he said slowly, obviously wondering why, before meeting her eyes. "It's nothing." She felt mildly guilty for not writing him back after his last message - she'd had ample time to do so, though she knew word of their journey to Winterfell would reach his father before she could even finish hers - but she wanted to see his face the moment he heard of the King's agreement to their marriage. Was it selfish? Absolutely, but she hadn't been able to allow herself to spoil the surprise.

"The King let me decide... and I chose you, Kol." Her hand came up to delve into the surprisingly velvety softness of the hair at the nape of his neck. It was slightly shorter and less curly than Robb's, much shorter than Ned's, but she found she liked it cropped that way. It was still long enough to run her fingers through, and as they disappeared into the dark strands, the glorious smile that began to spread across his face made everything worth it - the years of waiting, the promises of a life together, full of children and happiness, the doubts and yearning - and as she returned his expression of pure, unadulterated joy, she found her heart felt as though it would burst.

"We shall be married. I will bear you as many children as the gods will allow, and we will be together, from this day, until our dying day..." she went silent for several moments as she mustered the courage to say the words that had been in her heart for years, but never said aloud or written on parchment. "I...I love you, Kol Stark," she said shakily, laying her heart bare before him and all of those watching the two with rapt attention.

He responded by immediately taking her face between his hands and joining their lips in the first real kiss they'd ever shared. Before, she'd counted the quick peck in the stables upon his departure from King's Landing some nine years prior as their first, but now, feeling a previously unknown fire ignite in her belly at the mere sensation of their mouths pressed together, she knew she'd been wrong to do so. _This was their first, and it would be far from their last,_ she vowed to herself silently as he pulled away, his breathing uneven, as was hers. Despite it being innocent in nature, it'd still managed to take her breath away. If this was her reaction now, what would it be when they were locked in a passionate embrace? She shuddered and flushed red at the thought.

"Well, look what we have here," she looked down as her father approached them, moving to step back a pace or two, remembering where they were and how inappropriate their embrace truly was, only to have Kol step with her, his arm still encircling her waist. She laughed nervously before turning to face Robert as he stopped in front of them, resting her hand on Kol's chest in the process.

"It appears that we'll be joining Houses after all, Ned." He was clearly referencing his former betrothal to Lyanna, and everyone knew it. Her father extended his hand for Kol to shake, which he returned with an equal amount of strength - to grip harder would only insult the King, and Kol was wise enough not to do so. "A wolf and a stag, as it should've been years ago," he commented thoughtfully. Davina's eyes automatically drifted to her mother as she stood with Ned and Catelyn and the rest of Kol's family.

Cersei showed no emotion whatsoever to her husband's comment, which was not unusual. Davina supposed she'd given up trying to fight Lyanna's ghost for Robert's love years before, and though the reminder still stung slightly, the bite of it had long since faded.

The King then turned, and Davina released a breath, sinking into Kol's form more. "Take me to your crypt. I want to pay my respects."

"We've been riding for a month, my Love," her mother argued halfheartedly, maintaining her composure as only she could. Davina had come to realize as she'd become more and more aware of the world and how things worked just how strong her mother truly was, despite being shackled to a drunken, whoring pig of a husband. "Surely the dead can wait."

Davina felt a palpable amount of rage as Robert acted as if Cersei simply hadn't spoken at all, calling on Kol's father before departing in the direction of the tombs beneath Winterfell. She saw Ned shoot Cersei an apologetic glance before following his King. Davina almost made a move to follow them and berate him for his behavior, but Kol's grip on her waist tightened, stopping her in her tracks. When she met his eyes, she could clearly see the sympathy in their depths - his parents had grown to love each other, but hers had not been so fortunate - no doubt recalling her many tales of Robert's mistreatment of Cersei in their letters.

Arya, predictably, was the first one to break the stony silence that had fallen over the courtyard by leaning over to Sansa and not so quietly questioning the whereabouts of Davina's other uncle, Tyrion. Davina frowned, realizing that she hadn't seen him all morning. He, too, had complimented her on her hair after Joffrey's insult and had proceeded to disappear altogether.

She watched as Cersei shot a quick glance Arya's way before turning, passing by Davina and Kol as if they weren't standing three paces from her, and striding over to Jaime, demanding to know where Tyrion was, not even giving him a chance to answer before she commanded him to go and find him.

Davina watched as Jaime set off to do his Queen's bidding with a heavy heart. She'd been looking forward to introducing Kol to him most of all, especially after her high praise of him in their letters. She knew Kol's father held no respect for her uncle, but she'd made an effort over the years to endear Kol to Jaime despite his family's misgivings of the younger Lannister twin. They were the two most important men in her life - her husband to be and her uncle who could very likely be the man who'd fathered her as well. She didn't think she could take it if they disliked one another.

Her eyes then went to the remainder of House Stark - all that was left of it, she realized - before she disentangled herself from Kol's grasp and approached Catelyn. His mother immediately went to bow before her, as she had with her mother, but Davina was quicker. Davina knelt low before her future good-mother, showing her the utmost respect.

"Lady Stark," she addressed her formally. The time for familiarity would come later, after her wedding.

"My Princess," she responded, indeed with a bow this time, making Davina smile, even as she shook her head.

"No, Lady Stark, call me Davina, please," she insisted with a genuine grin accentuated with a slight laugh. "If I am to marry your son, that would make me your daughter. It would be quite odd if we refer to each other by our titles, all things considered, would it not?" She knew this would probably infuriate her mother - granting Catelyn the right to a position she'd been the sole owner of since Davina's birth. She'd undoubtedly receive an earful later, but she'd simply have to reassure her mother that Catelyn could never take her place, not truly.

Catelyn merely nodded, perhaps taken aback by Davina's request. Lannisters and Baratheons were not known for humility, especially in their day and age, so to have a member of both Houses refuse to be reminded or referred to by their proper station was certainly not of the norm.

Davina smiled sweetly at Rickon, making the youngster blush and look down at his feet. Her eyes then turned to Robb, who was studying her closely. Once their eyes met, he immediately averted his gaze out of respect. "I hear you and your brother are quite close," she ventured, succeeding in regaining his attention.

"We're practically inseparable, Your Grace," he replied, holding his head high, though the use of her title made her shake her head.

"Robb, I am to be your sister soon. I would appreciate it if you, too, would call me Davina. Kol has told me so much about you in our letters that I feel as though you are the older brother I never had," she admitted honestly. Kol had often told her of the trouble that he, Robb, and Jon would get into together on a regular basis. Even Jon, Ned's bastard son born during the Rebellion, between Robb and Kol, held a place among the Stark siblings. Unlike with the innumerable bastard siblings of hers Robert had no doubt fathered, Jon was one of them, if only by blood alone.

She saw him standing behind the family with Theon Greyjoy, the only surviving son of Balon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands. His father had rebelled against hers, and upon his defeat, Theon had been taken as a hostage by the Starks, though now it was clear he, too, was a member of the family. Davina made a mental note to meet them later, when there wasn't so much attention on her.

"If you wish it, Yo-" he cut off as he saw her teasing look. "I mean, Davina," he corrected himself with a chuckle. She grinned back, knowing they would get along just fine, before focusing on Sansa, who was already a few inches taller than her, though she was two years her junior. Thankfully, unlike with her brother, Davina did not have to tilt her chin to meet her eyes, but with the way the girl was growing, it wouldn't be long before she would have to.

"My father was right, you are very beautiful, Sansa." The redhead blushed and looked down. "You will no doubt grow to be one of the most stunning young ladies in all the Seven Kingdoms." The girl's Tully eyes - a clear water blue - shot up to meet her Lannister ones, clearly in disagreement, but Davina held up a hand. She didn't need Sansa arguing with her over which of them was more lovely. Though she was told constantly of her great beauty and saw how men watched her whenever she entered a room, the praise and attention made her feel...uncomfortable.

"Thank you, Your-" Davina gave her a look very similar to the one she'd given her older brother, making Sansa laugh lightly, both in embarrassment and humor. "Thank you, Davina." Davina bowed her head slightly out of respect and thanks before a wide grin spread across her features as her eyes landed on Arya.

"And you must be Arya. Kol has told me so much about you." The surprised, yet satisfied, look that filled the girl's brown eyes made Davina chuckle. "From what I've heard, you and I are not so different, little wolf." To her delight, the term of endearment caused Arya's entire face to light up with joy. "We'd both rather wield a sword or knock an arrow than practice our needlepoint, am I right?"

"You hate it too?" Arya questioned with raised brows and a barely concealed smile. Then and there, she decided Arya was her second favorite Stark, directly behind Kol, of course. They would get on like a house on fire. Davina nodded in response before crouching down in front of her and taking the girl's hands between her own.

"I have been learning how to handle a sword since my fifth name day, Arya, taught by my uncle, one of the finest swords in all of Westeros. If you would like," she began with a conspiratorial smile, "I could teach you as he has me." The enthusiastic nod in response she received told her all she needed to know. Still holding Arya's hands, she turned to Bran. "I hear you are attempting to master the bow, Bran...perhaps I could teach you a thing or two that your brothers could not?" She offered, still smiling.

Bran shot Robb and Kol each a look, almost as if asking their permission, and upon Kol's nod of approval, he turned back to her with a smile. "I would like that very much." Davina smiled softly before turning to meet Kol's eyes, which were focused on her with such a look of complete adoration, it stole the breath from her lungs. He was no doubt imagining the day they would teach their own children the art of war, he tutoring them on how to hold a bow and nock an arrow while she instructed them on how to swing a sword. Perhaps Jaime would help her teach them - they could very well be his grandchildren, after all. She hoped he would, just as she prayed he felt the same way about her children as he did about her.

She then released Arya's hands, only to stride over to her future husband and grasp his before leading him over to where Cersei, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen stood, steeling herself for her mother and Joffrey's reaction to him. Cella and Tommen would love him, but she knew for a fact Joffrey would insult him from the start, not that Kol wasn't expecting it though. He was well aware of her brother's acidic personality, but she doubted he was prepared for her mother's icy demeanor.

"Mother," she began nervously, biting her lip as she looked up at Kol for a moment before meeting Cersei's eyes. "I'm sure you remember Kol." Kol, ever the charmer, mirrored his father's greetings of respect by bowing and kissing her proffered hand. Davina held her breath as he straightened to his full height with a devilishly handsome smile.

"My Queen." Cersei faked a smile in response, and Davina's heart dropped. She'd expected as much, but she'd hoped her mother would've at least put forth an effort to like him. Kol, the gods bless his soul, pretended not to notice. "I believe it's quite clear where Davina's beauty comes from, Your Grace." If anything, Kol's compliment only managed to harden her mother's seemingly steadfast dislike of him more, for all she did was smile. She didn't thank him or try and deny it, she was just silent.

In an attempt to save Kol from any further embarrassment at her mother's expense, she turned and, begrudgingly, motioned to Joffrey, preparing herself for whatever vulgar insult he was about to spew. "Sweetheart, I'm sure you remember my brother, Joffrey," she said politely, extending an olive branch of sorts to her temperamental younger brother, praying he'd behave himself just this once. She knew the moment she saw his eyes that luck was not on her side.

"A pleasure, Your Grace," Kol greeted amiably, but there was nothing he could've done, no correct response that would satisfy her brother's desire to inflict cruelty.

"I see my sister has found herself a pet. She's always been asking father for a dog," he commented, thinking himself quite funny, seeing as how he laughed at his own joke. Kol merely smiled, though there was a dangerous glint in his eyes that would frighten even the bravest of men.

"While I might not be the sort of animal she had in mind, I would undoubtedly do anything she asked of me, Your Grace." He bowed his head once more, a clear dismissal of him, before turning his attention to her sister. Davina had to bite back a laugh at Joffrey's indignant expression of pure disbelief. Not only had Kol refused to take the bait, but he'd admitted Joffrey had been right without actually saying the words, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. Still, she sent her brother a smirk as his face began to turn a shade of red. Kol might not've been willing to revel in his victory, but she'd bask in it enough for the both of them.

As she turned her attention to Kol, who had bent down in order to be at her sister's eye level, Joffrey stomped away like the petulant child he truly was. She paid him no mind, and surprisingly, Cersei didn't automatically move to follow him. She simply watched him go with a blank expression.

"And you must be Myrcella...Davina has told me many wonderful things about you, you know...she loves you very much." Davina laid her hand on Kol's shoulder, which he immediately covered with one of his own, though his soulful brown eyes never strayed from her sister's. Myrcella blushed before glancing up at Davina.

"I know," was all she could seem to say, but Davina knew how soft spoken her sister was, as did Kol, so Myrcella saying anything at all was a good sign.

"She didn't tell me how beautiful you are, however. Just like your mother and your sister, you shall be a great beauty." She thanked him softly with an even softer, angelic giggle, clearly already infatuated with her soon to be good-brother. Davina watched the two with a wide, teary smile, feeling as though she was seeing into the future when they had their own daughter and he bestowed on her a very similar sentiment.

"And you would be Tommen," Kol said as his warm, mahogany eyes shifted to her little brother, who was watching the older boy with something akin to admiration. The thought of Kol being a possible role model for young Tommen warmed her heart. Joffrey certainly was not the ideal candidate, nor was their father, and Davina thanked the gods daily for her youngest brother's sweet disposition and good heart.

It was often said that, every time a Targaryen was born, the gods flipped a coin. It was believed that because half the Targaryens eventually went mad, it was due to their desires to keep bloodlines pure, therefore making them products of incest generation after generation. Their very efforts to try to purify their line more often than not caused their downfall. She wondered if there was any truth to them. If so, and if she, too, was the daughter of Jaime, not Robert, then the Lannister twins should be counting themselves lucky that Joffrey was the only bad egg of the bunch. Three out of four wasn't half bad all things considered.

Davina listened as Tommen, usually quite like Myrcella, rushed to tell Kol all about his cat, Ser Pounce, back in King's Landing. Kol humored Tommen, asking questions and appearing genuinely curious about said pet. Davina had to cover her mouth with her hand as Tommen babbled on and on about how, as soon as they returned home, he'd introduce Kol to Ser Pounce and the three of them could play together for hours. She supposed Kol was used to such behavior, having four younger siblings himself, but she still appreciated his patience and attentiveness.

Finally, after Kol had readily agreed to playdates with Tommen and Ser Pounce, he stood, wrapping an arm around her waist in the process. She couldn't resist leaning her head on his shoulder in response. By now, the courtyard was busy with unloading and preparing for the grand feast that night, so she glanced over her shoulder, seeing Arya, Bran, and Rickon all looking at her expectantly. Catelyn had silently excused herself while Davina had introduced Kol to her family, no doubt taking Robb with her so that they could make the necessary preparations for later that night. Sansa had disappeared also, but Davina guessed she'd gone to start getting ready as well, leaving the three youngest siblings to their own devices for the time being.

Davina sighed heavily in a dramatic fashion, making the three giggle slightly. "So, which one of you thinks they can best me with a bow?" she questioned cheekily. Arya immediately raised her hand, making Davina laugh. As the three Stark children leapt forward and grasped her hands, pulling her towards their training area, she looked back over her shoulder, intending on asking Myrcella or Tommen if they wanted to join, only to see their backs as Cersei herded them away before Davina had the chance.

"I'll wear her down, don't worry," Kol said quietly as Arya, Bran, and Rickon released Davina's hands and ran on ahead as soon as they were sure she was following them. "I wore you down, didn't I?" he asked wryly, causing her to chuckle. She vividly remembered originally not giving him the time of day, expecting him to be much like Joff, but even at six, he'd been relentless in his pursuit of her.

The first time they'd ever spoken, he'd complimented her on her name, but had then insulted her taste in music as they'd listened to several musicians in the gardens the day after his arrival.

" _A lovely name...terrible taste in music, though. You obviously need me."_

She remembered simply shoving him to the ground and stalking away, much to both their fathers' amusement. She'd avoided him for the next several days, refusing to see him no matter how many times Septa Eglantine had tried and failed to have her spend time with him. Finally, fate, as it seemed, had stepped in to lend him a helping hand.

He'd witnessed one of Joffrey's cruelest attacks on her yet, which had resulted her ankle swelling to the size of a small Dornish plum. He'd watched the exchange from the shadows, and once Joff had left her alone, unable to stand, deep in the gardens surrounding the Red Keep, he'd gone to her and offered her his help.

" _It appears someone has knocked you head over heels quite literally...I thought I'd have that honor."_

She'd scoffed at first and attempted to stand on her own, only to grit her teeth in pain and sink back to the ground in an unceremonious heap. Eventually, after much prodding, she'd set her pride aside and allowed him to help her inside to find Grand Maester Pycelle to treat her ankle. That day she'd decided the young wolf pup hadn't been nearly as bad as she'd once thought, and, slowly but surely, they'd developed a friendship of sorts. By the time he'd left some three moon turns later, they'd been inseparable.

She cast a glance in his direction and smiled sadly. He could definitely try, but wooing a six year old Davina was a much easier feat than endearing him to her mother.

* * *

Hours later, as the sun was slowly disappearing over the horizon, Davina was reclining in the tub as one of the Stark's servants washed her hair. The only light in the room was provided by the fire, which was lit only a few paces from where she sat, keeping the water warm despite the plunging temperatures outside the walls. Kol had requested that she be drawn a bath, stating that she needed a moment to relax after her long journey...and to wash the mud off her.

She, Bran, and Arya had gotten a little overly excited after their archery competition and a game of tag had ensued. Davina, of course, had been double teamed by the Stark children, resulting in her running for her life. She'd successfully evaded them at first, but once Rickon and Kol had joined in, there'd been no hope of escape. One ill-placed step had sent her headfirst into a large mud puddle just as Jaime had returned from finding Tyrion.

Despite being embarrassed beyond belief, she'd laughed at her own expense with the others while Kol and Jaime had helped her up, both making jokes at her clumsiness.

A knock at the door caused her eyes to shoot open, and before she could turn whoever it was away, the door opened. She sat up quickly, moving to preserve her honor and hide her nakedness as best she could, only to see her mother standing there, already dressed for the feast in an intricate crimson and gold gown and her hair done up in the Southern style that Davina loathed.

Davina had tried the hairstyle once upon her mother's prodding, but it simply did not suit her. The way the majority of her waves were piled atop her head made her face appear too small and she believed the twin spiral plaits left down looked utterly ridiculous. She'd taken it down immediately, much to Cersei's displeasure, swearing to never wear her hair like it again, and she'd stayed true to her word.

"Leave us." Before Davina could even blink, the servant had done Cersei's bidding, leaving mother and daughter alone. She slowly sank back into her previous position as her mother closed the door and seated herself on the stool the Stark's servant had been occupying just moments prior, taking Davina's long, tangled, dripping bronze waves in her hands and proceeding to wring the water from it. The sudden display of motherly affection - directed her way, at least - struck her as odd. Not only were they in the midst of an argument that Davina saw no true end to, but Cersei had made a habit of showering Myrcella with such attention while Davina received nothing of the sort.

"Word of your clumsiness is quickly spreading," she began conversationally, and though Davina still felt uneasy, she chose to at least attempt to play along and rolled her eyes.

"I'll have you know, I was outnumbered four to one and I'm terribly out of practice since..." she trailed off just before insulting her mother's golden child, unwilling to start a fight with her over something so trivial. She fumbled for a different explanation other than the truth - that she had sworn off her favorite childhood game in order to avoid fighting with Joffrey - and finally came up with a believable one. "Since Kol left King's Landing," she said as convincingly as possible, though it lacked an air of certainty she knew Cersei would see right through.

If her mother doubted the truth of her words, she said nothing as she guided her into a sitting position so she could wash her back. It was something she hadn't done since Davina had been a little girl. Though the sudden influx of motherly affection was a surprise, it was a welcomed change.

"You don't have to maintain this...charade with me, Sweetling." The mere inclination of what her mother was suggesting made Davina freeze. Was Cersei truly so blind that she couldn't see how much Davina loved him? "I know you are only trying to gain control where you are able, and that is perfectly understandable...but surely there is another boy who could provide you the heir you so clearly desire." She flinched away from her mother's touch in disgust. How could her own mother believe her to be so cruel and calculating? She'd stated plainly that the only reason Davina had even the slightest interest in Kol was because he could give her a son that would possibly one day sit the Iron Throne.

"Are you truly so blinded by your dislike of the Starks that you cannot see how fervently I care for him? Did you not hear my promise to him earlier?" She squared her shoulders and turned her head so she could face her mother, who was now wearing a look of clear displeasure, and for a moment, Davina wondered if it would be better to lie to her - to tell her she was playing her role in life and forging her own path and that she cared little about Kol - but then his face appeared in her thoughts. His sandy colored hair, his molten mahogany eyes that always seemed to flare to life whenever they landed on her, the way one corner of his mouth lifted slightly higher than the other when teasing her, like when she'd fallen just an hour or so before, and she found denying him impossible.

He was as much a part of her as the Lannister blood that ran through her veins, and Cersei would either learn to accept it or forever alienate herself from her eldest child and future grandchildren, because once they claimed each other before both the Old Gods and New, Davina was never letting him out of her sight again.

"I love him," she said honestly, hoping against hope that Cersei would actually see the truth to her words, but that hope was diminished as soon as she saw the look of amusement in her mother's eyes. "What?" she questioned angrily at seeing her mother's expression. "Are my feelings laughable?"

"My little lioness," Cersei murmured, still smiling with humor, before reaching out to caress her cheek, "You might believe that you love him...but this is merely a passing childish infatuation-" she stopped abruptly as Davina flinched away like Cersei had physically struck her. The disbelief, pain, and outrage in Davina's now watery emerald eyes spoke volumes as they met her mother's identical ones, and whatever Cersei saw in them caused her to straighten and pull away, her expression hardening considerably.

"Is that all Jaime is to you?" she asked lowly for fear of being overheard. Davina prayed to the Seven that by likening her love for Kol to her mother's love for Jaime, it would finally make Cersei understand just how deeply she cared about him, but she felt her heart sink as she realized even if Cersei understood, she'd never accept it. She could tell as much based off the acidic glint in her Lannister eyes.

A prolonged silence fell over the two before it was finally broken by Cersei. "Are you done with your bath?" she asked with a false smile that made Davina's blood boil, though she didn't show it. She didn't want to give her mother the satisfaction of knowing just how easily she could get under her skin. Instead, she turned away from her and stared into the flames.

"I can finish on my own," she responded flatly, focusing on the fire until her mother had stormed out of her temporary quarters. As soon as the door slammed shut, Davina glanced towards it, making sure she was truly alone, before releasing a deep breath and raking a hand back through her damp waves in frustration. She understood her mother's steadfast hatred for Kol's House, and in that respect, she could sympathize with her.

If Kol had loved another and she'd been stolen from him, and Davina had been offered to him in place of his lost love, she would've probably developed such a stalwart resentment of the girl's very name, not to mention her House. She couldn't imagine what it was like for her mother to be here, surrounded by the suffocating presence of Lyanna Stark's ghost. Davina supposed that Cersei had once loved Robert, as had every girl in the Seven Kingdoms, but that love had waned and simmered soon after they were wed.

She'd heard the tales of her supposed father's rugged handsomeness during the war and knew he'd been idolized by men and desired by women...but that man was not the one who'd raised her, if one could even consider his absentee role in her life that. The gallant knight, the scorned lover, the brave leader, died that day at the Trident as surely as Rhaegar had succumb to his war hammer, and in his place grew the foul, whoring, drunken pig she'd come to know and loathe.

As she'd grown older and wiser, she'd come to see her parents' marriage for what it truly was. There was no love between them, truthfully there never had been, and at first it had saddened her.

She'd been only seven when she'd witnessed one of their more explosive arguments. Septa Eglantine had been busy caring for Cella, then only two years old, so slipping from her grasp had been all too easy. Cersei had just borne Tommen a moon or so before, and his own Septa had been caring for him at the time. She vaguely remembered hiding underneath a table, covered by an ornate, thick tablecloth - what room she was in exactly, she couldn't even begin to recall - when her parents had stormed in, clearly very cross with one another. Robert's voice was slurred while Cersei's had a hardened edge to it that she herself had never witnessed before.

Most of her memory about it was foggy at best, but the one thing that'd remained with her, etched into her mind with startling clarity, was the sound of his fist meeting her mother's cheek. After Robert had stormed out, she somewhat remembered hugging her knees to her chest and whimpering softly, horrified that her lord father - the King - would dare strike the Queen in such a manner. A few moments later, Cersei had found her, gently coaxed her out from her hiding place, and had taken her into her arms and had begun to rock her back and forth soothingly.

The following conversation remained a blur, but she did recall vehemently vowing to protect her mother with a blade from Robert the next time he mistreated her. Cersei had smiled sadly before shaking her head.

" _A woman doesn't need steel to fight a man, my little lioness."_ To this day, Davina still felt a warmth wash through her as she remembered the look of bittersweet pride shining in her mother's vivid emerald eyes. " _We have other weapons, more powerful than any bolt or sword, at our disposal."_

Then, she'd had no earthly clue what her mother was referring to, but now she had a better understanding of what she'd been trying to teach her that day. A man may wage wars with Valyrian forged weapons while wearing the finest armor in all of Westeros, but a woman could tear the world asunder by simply opening her mouth...or spreading her legs. Desire was a woman's most powerful, lethal weapon - one that her mother knew how to use. It had been desire that had sparked Robert's Rebellion, after all.

She shook her head slightly and drew her knees to her chest, much like she'd done that day, and pressed her forehead against her knees. Perhaps her mother's stalwart, steadfast dislike of her intended stemmed from some maternal instinct to protect her cubs, both from physical and emotional pain. It was the only logical explanation she could conjure up that would justify her reaction to him and to their relationship, but somehow, Davina doubted that overprotectiveness was the sole reason.

One would assume that a mother would only want the very best for her children - would want them to succeed and thrive in ways that she herself did not - and logically speaking, marrying Kol offered that outcome. He was already a thousand times the man Robert was at just six and ten, and they would be happy together, which was much more than her parents could ever claim to be...so why did Cersei seemingly not want that for her?

She squeezed her eyes shut tightly as she fought off the small whisper in the back of her mind that suggested jealousy was the perpetrator. Why would Cersei Lannister, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, wife of the King, arguably the most beautiful woman on this side of the Narrow Sea, be jealous of a possibly illegitimate, bastard princess who held no true power other than what she could generate with the swipe of a blade or a few words in an all but dead language? The mere notion was absurd, but somehow, she found she couldn't bring herself to discount it as a possibility.

If this was how she reacted when Davina entered into a betrothal, what would Myrcella receive? Would Cersei approve of her match or would she fight the King tooth and nail on the matter? There was no doubt that Myrcella's marriage would be far more advantageous for the family name than Davina and Kol's. While the Starks had once been Kings in their respective region, once they'd bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen, they had lost much of the power they'd once possessed.

Though they remained one of the seven great houses of Westeros - the Starks in the North, the Lannisters in the Westerlands, the Baratheons in Storm's End and the Crownlands, the Tullys in the Riverlands, the Tyrells in the Reach, the Martells in Dorne, and the Arryns in the Eyrie - they'd ceased to consider themselves royalty, unlike Dorne. There, the Martells still dubbed their penultimate monarch 'Prince', whereas elsewhere the title would be 'Lord Paramount'.

If it weren't for the Mountain slaughtering Elia Martell and Rhaegar's children, an affront that to this day the Martells despised her family for, she supposed an alliance with Dorne would be most favorable. Prince Doran even had a son near Myrcella's age.

A meek knock on her door caused her head to snap in it's direction. As the seconds ticked by, she was beginning to think she'd imagined the sound, but then came another, this one slightly more audible, before the door swung open. Davina released a breath when she saw Myrcella's golden mane glowing in the light of the fire and her curious green eyes land on her. The girl looked behind her quickly before shutting the door and nervously taking several steps towards her older sister.

"Were you and Mother fighting again?" Davina opened her mouth to deny it, but Myrcella shocked her by shaking her head. "I saw her storm down the hall. I know you had another argument, as seems to be normal as of late, and I know you only lie to protect me, but..." she trailed off, looking away sheepishly before her eyes remet her sister's, the green of them burning brightly with a resolve Davina had never seen in them before. "I can handle whatever secret you've been keeping."

Davina was glad that the lighting in the room didn't allow Myrcella to see how her face had paled at the suggestion. Cella had always been perceptive - moreso than Joff and Tommen ever had been - and Davina had never wished her to be otherwise before this moment. It was one thing for her to keep their parentage a secret, but for Myrcella to know what she herself had only just discovered a mere moon and a half before at her age was madness. The way she'd reacted to it had been terrible enough as it was, but for a girl of Cella's age to discover such a dark, dangerous secret? It would crush her, as it had nearly crushed Davina.

The brunette schooled her features and shook her head. "Mother doesn't approve of Kol," she stated, praying that Myrcella would accept this as the secret or simply forget her suspicions altogether. If Davina had it her way, Myrcella would never know the truth.

To her relief, Myrcella's expression of determination softened to that of pity, and while she hated to be the subject of it, she'd gladly take it over the alternative. Her precious blonde sister sat on the stool recently vacated by their mother. "On what grounds?" she questioned with confusion. "He was very kind to me, polite and charming to Mother, and humored Tommen. I can tell he is a good man, Davina...and he is also very handsome." She didn't know how Cella managed it, but the laugh her admittance brought forth was one of the more genuine ones she'd had in a long time.

"Sorry to say this to you, Cella, but he is taken. Despite you being my favorite, I won't relinquish him to you easily" she teased, and Myrcella rolled her vivid green eyes in response, making Davina's smile grow. Tommen was still too young to truly engage in any banter with her and Joff's humor was always laced with venom. Her sister was the only one of her siblings she could converse with honestly and openly, and their bond was stronger because of it.

"Perhaps you could take up with Bran," Davina suggested with a smirk, watching the emotions play across her sister's delicate features - shock, embarrassment, denial - as she shook her head. Davina chuckled lightly while shaking her head. "Why not? Bran bears a striking resemblance to Kol if that is what you are after."

Myrcella blushed, her alabaster cheeks stained red with embarrassment, and looked away. "Bran is...nice, from what I've seen of him, but..." she trailed off, biting her lip and wringing her hands together, making Davina cock her head in confusion before releasing a breathy giggle at her sister's behavior.

"Cella, what is it?" she asked, leaning her elbows on the edge of the tub so she could look her in the eye properly. When she still refused to meet her eyes, Davina reached out and caressed her smooth cheek lightly, gently coaxing her to turn her head so that their two nearly identical pairs of eyes met. "You can tell me," she whispered honestly, meaning the words with everything in her. She loved Myrcella beyond imagining, just as fiercely as she loved Kol and Jaime. They were the three most important people in her life, and if she and Cersei weren't quarreling, she would be included in that short list. And innocent, pure Tommen as well.

She loved the five of them unlike anything in the world. If the choice came down to their lives or hers, she'd sacrifice her own, without question. She was much like Cersei in that respect - a lioness protecting her pride.

"I won't judge you if that is what you are worried about." This seemed to encourage her, for she modified her posture as she'd seen Cersei do many a time, and as she'd seen her older sister do with increasing frequency as of late. For a moment, it was like Davina was looking into the past and seeing their mother positioning herself the exact same way when facing their grandfather, and it made Davina's breath catch in her throat.

On the journey to Winterfell, she'd marvelled at her sister's resemblance to her true father, and asked herself why she hadn't realized the truth sooner. She saw them both nearly every day, so why had it come as such a revelation to see her likeness to him? She might've always known, but what child would assume something so horrendous about her mother and uncle? Two people she trusted implicitly to always be honest with her?

"Do you think if I asked Father to broker an engagement for me, he'd do it? As he did for you?" she asked. Her eyes widened and she was sure her mouth hung open slightly at her sister's question.

"Who did you have in mind, little cub?" she asked curiously after recovering from her shock. She didn't even like the thought of Myrcella becoming engaged, not yet, and she could imagine the look on Cersei's face if she'd heard her youngest daughter's words. The phrase _supreme displeasure_ wouldn't even be able to begin to describe their mother's expression.

"Robb is very handsome, wouldn't you agree?" she asked innocently, her eyes cast downwards once more, and if it were possible, the expression of shock Davina had worn before paled in comparison to the awestruck one on her face now. She couldn't dispute her sister's words - Robb was a very handsome man indeed - but she'd never have guessed her precious baby sister would feel that way about a boy of his age.

If she remembered correctly, he'd been conceived on Ned and Catelyn's wedding night just before Lord Stark had galloped off to join their father in the war. That would make him seven and ten, almost twice her age. He was a man and she was but a child who had yet to flower or start to develop into a woman. She felt a pang deep in her chest for Myrcella but didn't have the heart to shatter her hopes and dreams that she'd clearly already set on the heir of Winterfell.

She knew what their mother would say to her if she ever heard of her clear infatuation with him. " _He is not yours to have or hold, little cub,"_ Cersei would whisper soothingly. The thought made Davina's proverbial hackles rise and she nodded while wearing a smile. "I can't disagree, 'Cella," she said honestly, making her sister smile excitedly.

"His eyes are the bluest I've ever seen, much brighter than father's," she gushed, and Davina smiled again before reaching for her robe and standing from the tub, wrapping the garment around her in the process and wringing whatever little water was left in her hair out. Myrcella wasn't wrong - Tully blue beat Baratheon blue in their vividness almost every time in her eyes - and she laughed as she picked up her comb before making her way to the fire to help her mane dry faster.

"I can't argue with you on that front," she agreed as she began to run it through her bronze waves, jumping in surprise when she felt Myrcella gently pry the comb from her hands. "You have the most beautiful hair," Myrcella admired quietly as she brushed through the knots adorning the majority of it thanks to her tumble earlier. "It's the most stunning color, especially in the light of day."

"Yours is far prettier than mine, I'm afraid," Davina denied honestly. She'd always been jealous of the golden manes her younger siblings sported, making them appear angelic in almost every lighting, at any time of day. She felt Myrcella shake her head in disagreement.

"No, mine is boring. It's the same horrid yellow color all over. Yours is different. You have bronze and gold all mixed together so intricately. In the sunlight you can see how harmoniously they blend-" she cut off as Davina turned, sending her a watery smile. She grasped her sister's free hand and made sure she met her eyes before speaking.

"Never doubt your own beauty, 'Cella. In a few years, you will be the most sought after lady on this side of the Narrow Sea. Any man would be a fool not to want you." Tears formed in Myrcella's eyes at Davina words, and before the elder of the two could react, the younger had embraced her tightly, uncaring of Davina's still damp skin and wet hair. Though shocked, Davina welcomed her sister with open arms, relishing in the easy silence that fell over them.

Davina didn't know how long they remained like that before Myrcella finally pulled away, wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye in the process. For the first time, Davina noticed her pretty red and gold dress made of what appeared to be the finest of silks and looked up into her eyes with a smile.

"Mother's letting you come to the feast tonight?" The blonde nodded enthusiastically, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Just for an hour or so, but Tommen has to go to bed before it starts. Mother wants me to stay with her, but at least I'll be there." Davina smiled and took both of her hands between her own.

"How about you sit in my lap? I'm seated next to Mother, and the added few inches will give you a better view of everything," she offered, laughing as Myrcella almost jumped up and down at the prospect. Sometimes, like after the conversation they just had, Davina forgot she was still just a child. Her sister was far more intelligent and mature than anyone else gave her credit for.

"Have you picked your dress out yet?" she questioned, mischief dancing in her green eyes as she pulled her up and towards her chests, making Davina laugh again. As Myrcella animatedly told her of how she'd escaped their Septa - something about Eglantine turning her back just long enough for Myrcella to sneak out of her temporary chambers - and dug through the many dresses she'd been forced to pack, critiquing each one on style, fit, and function, before casting it aside and moving on to the next, Davina couldn't help but send up a silent prayer to the Old Gods and New, whichever were listening, that her beautiful, kindhearted sister would find someone who would love and protect her in the way she so desperately desired and deserved.

* * *

In the end, Myrcella had settled on a gorgeous crimson and gold dress she'd found at the very bottom of Davina's second to last chest. The neck was cut in a way that left her shoulders bare and dipped slightly in the front, though not enough to reveal too much. The red of it was muted, more a subtle maroon color than the blood-like one of her maternal House, and the gold was toned down as well, but the likeness to the Lannister sigil was without question very strong. Whether Myrcella gravitated towards their mother's - and her father's - House instinctively or by pure coincidence, Davina wasn't sure, but her choice made guilt form deep within her older sister's gut.

She wished she could tell her, but it wouldn't be fair to Myrcella, and it would place her in danger as well. If this was the only way to protect her, then so be it. She'd endure the guilt every time she met her sister's ever trusting, vivid eyes, knowing that she was keeping her safe in the only way she could.

"Davina?" She turned, her vision coming back into focus as her eyes landed on Myrcella, who was seated in her lap, watching her worriedly. Before she could reply, the sound of their father's drunken laughter reached their ears, making the sisters both warily glance in his direction, just in time to see him pull one of the Stark's servants onto his lap as she refilled his flagon of Ale. She felt Myrcella stiffen in her lap at the sight - she'd only recently become aware of their father's philandering and drinking - and Davina caressed her hair with her hand, attempting to soothe her.

After several long moments, Myrcella turned to face her, righteous anger and pain burning in the depths of her beautiful Lannister eyes, and Davina drew her into an embrace, understanding her feelings all too well. As she stroked her hair softly while Myrcella buried her face in Davina's neck, trembling softly, the elder of the two chanced a glance to her right, reading their mother's body language with ease, causing an overwhelming sense of pity to engulf her.

Here they were, the royal couple, the pillar, the paste holding all of the Great Houses together, and it was all a lie. She couldn't help but feel a strong stab of hatred for Robert in times like these. He'd married the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros - and though her mother was not a conventional beauty by any stretch of the imagination, she outshone any and all others in her presence without putting forth any effort - and he was choosing instead to focus his attentions on a commoner whose face was all too forgettable and plain.

It was an affront to the Gods, what he was doing. Queens had been cropped at the neck for less - the only thing saving her father seemed to be the fact that he was a man, and therefore, could do whatever he pleased. Even Cersei Lannister was expendable to Robert Baratheon. The thought of the absolute power he possessed, and abused regularly, made her feel sick, both for her mother's sake and in the name of righteousness.

She wasn't religious to say the least, but she did value morality greatly, and if there was one thing Robert was not, it was moral.

Tentatively, she reached out, her hand seeking out Cersei's under the table. Despite their arguments and disagreements as of late, she was still her mother and she loved her - all the fights in the world couldn't change that. She prepared herself for the worst, only to be surprised as her mother accepted the gesture of comfort and interlaced their fingers, though her face betrayed nothing.

"Is this the first time in the North, Your Grace?" Davina's soon-to-be good mother, Lady Stark, asked, and she felt Cersei's grasp on her hand vanish. It was almost as if Davina had caught her in a moment of weakness, which had come to an abrupt end with Catelyn's question. Her now free hand went to Myrcella's gold-spun ringlets absently, toying with the silky strands as her mother answered.

"Yes...lovely country," she replied, though Davina could clearly detect the falseness in her tone. She knew all too well how deep Cersei's disdain for the North ran. To her credit, Lady Stark merely smiled and played along.

"I'm sure it's very grim after King's Landing." Davina's eyes were drawn to where she and Kol's siblings sat as Sansa stood and began making her way towards their table. She checked his seat, as she had been throughout the feast, but found that he'd vanished, as had Robb. Frowning, she glanced around the great hall, attempting to pick him out of the crowd, but found he wasn't there at all. "I remember how scared I was when Ned brought me up here for the first time," Catelyn added just as Sansa stopped in front of Cersei with a bashful smile spread across her lovely, youthful features.

Davina managed to return her smile genuinely, as did Myrcella - who was already overjoyed at the prospect of having yet another older sister - and Cersei, though, again, she could tell her mother's was less than sincere.

"Hello, little dove. You are a beauty...how old are you?" While Cersei's smile was false, the compliment was honest. To her credit, Sansa's confidence never wavered, even in the intimidating presence of her queen.

"Thirteen, Your Grace."

"You're tall," Cersei appraised as she looked Kol's younger sister up and down. "Still growing?"

"I think so, Your Grace," she responded, still grinning, but her expression faltered at Cersei's next question.

"And have you bled yet?" Davina wanted to say something, but it was not her place. Her mother was searching for a reason or excuse to break Sansa and Joffrey's betrothal, and while Sansa not having flowered would postpone things, it would inevitably happen. The sooner her mother resigned herself to her two oldest children marrying into the North and a Stark becoming the next king or queen, the easier it would be for them all.

Sansa's Tully eyes met her mother's identical ones, frantically wondering how she should answer such a question. It was clear from her reaction that she had not, but Davina didn't pity her at all. Her own moon's blood caused her awful pains and headaches regularly, leaving her bedridden or sick to her stomach. During those times she refused all visitors but Cersei, who would bring her warm towels to lay across her belly and milk of the poppy to ease her pains.

More often than not, she kept to her chambers for the duration of her bleeding. The mood swings that sometimes accompanied it was more than enough to keep herself sequestered away from the rest of the castle. The first moon's blood that came after returning from the Rock, she had nearly broken Joffrey's nose as he'd sneered at her pain. Luckily, Jaime had been there to catch her fist before Joffrey had seen it, thus saving her from his volatile temper, and while her mother had some stern words with her about the ordeal, she'd ultimately taken pity on her and seen to try and alleviate her pain personally.

Qyburn had attributed her more powerful reactions to her moon's blood to the magic it'd seemingly awoken within her and had told her mother so. Pycelle, not knowing of her special abilities, simply took it as a good sign that she was extraordinarily fertile and congratulated her as she lay in her bed. As soon as he'd turned his back, she recalled it taking both Jaime and Cersei having to hold her back from striking him in the gut.

"No, Your Grace," Sansa muttered, sounding crestfallen as she shook her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her mother nod minutely, though her expression gave away nothing.

"And your dress, did you make it?" That brought a smile of pride to Sansa's face as she nodded enthusiastically, and her clear joy was infectious as Davina found herself smiling along with her, as did Cersei. "Such a talent. You must make something for me." Sansa curtsied and then she was gone. Davina had intended on complimenting her as well, but as always, her mother had dominated the conversation, leaving little room for interference. Idly, she wondered if that was by chance or design.

"I hear we might share a grandchild someday in the near future," she said conversationally, sounding very unenthusiastic at the prospect. Davina stiffened at her mother's tone, bristling as the thought of her rejecting any of her grandchildren simply because they were Starks grated her.

"I hear the same," Catelyn responded, her tone mirroring her queen's, causing Davina to shift slightly in her chair, suddenly extremely uncomfortable. Were the only people truly overjoyed at she and Kol's betrothal they and their fathers? She had believed she'd made a good impression on her future good mother earlier that day, but her response said otherwise, and that worried her greatly.

"Your daughter will do well in the Capital. Such a beauty shouldn't stay hidden up here forever." Davina cast her worries aside, refusing to dwell on her fears while she should be rejoicing on their triumph, and offered Lady Stark a vibrant smile that reached her eyes.

"You needn't worry, Lady Stark. She'll have 'Cella, Arya, and I to keep her company... I'm sure we'll become the closest of friends, all of us. Sansa and I shall be sisters twice over, after all," she said with a light, airy laugh that made Myrcella giggle from her place in Davina's lap before she too nodded fervently.

Suddenly, she felt some sort of makeshift crown be placed on head, and she whirled, only to be met with the warm brown eyes she'd been searching for mere minutes prior. Her hand moved to touch it, but his shot out and grasped hers, shaking his head even though there was laughter shining in his dark eyes.

"Careful...I had no time to remove the thorns, and I'd hate for the Queen of Love and Beauty to injure herself on my account," he said with a charming smile. Her eyes softened considerably at this as her fingers intertwined with his, forming an effortless clasp, as if the gods themselves had crafted them for the other. At times, Davina truly believed they had.

"Is that what you were doing in the gardens earlier?" she asked, feeling tears prick the backs of her eyes as the events of earlier that day began to fall into place. He nodded, reaching out and stroking her cheek with his other hand, and though it should've been awkward in the presence of their mothers and her sister, she found it the opposite as she leaned into his touch readily.

"I thought, _what better way to welcome the one who has owned my heart for as long as I can remember than by crowning her the Queen of it?_ " She responded by kissing the back of the hand she still held in silent thanks, making him smile once more before she remembered where exactly they were. Myrcella was watching the two with rapt attention and a barely concealed grin. Catelyn was looking upon her son with a look of pride, while Cersei herself seemed touched by the gesture.

"Someday, I hope to have someone love me the way you love my sister," Myrcella murmured, thinking her thoughts aloud without realizing it based on her facial expression after the words had left her mouth. Davina simply smiled on her with as much encouragement as she could muster, and all the love she held for her.

"And someday you shall, sweet sister," Davina murmured and she teasingly pinched one of Myrcella's cheeks, making the blonde giggle. She sensed Kol's smile, filled to the brim with mischief, without even having to look. There was something about his entire demeanor that changed whenever he'd planned something particularly clever or devious, and it made her feel a thousand times lighter, as if the weight of the known world wasn't potentially going to rest upon her shoulders one day.

"And I believe someday might come much sooner than you expect, my princess," Kol said in a conspiratorial manner, much as he would when playing with Rickon. His eyes went to behind the two sisters, and no sooner had Davina remembered that Robb had been missing as well, he reappeared, placing another crown of woven winter roses atop Myrcella's golden mane as her sister blushed furiously.

As he kissed her hand and asked her if she would dance the next with him, looking every bit the heir to Winterfell and the North, Davina felt her heart swell within her chest, both at the expression on her dear sister's face as Robb humored her and at Kol's thoughtfulness. It took much prompting, but once Myrcella was being led out onto the floor by Robb, Davina turned to Kol as he knelt beside her chair.

"How did you know?" she asked. He shrugged.

"I may or may not have been passing by your quarters when I heard her gushing over my brother's stunning eyes," he said with a smile that told her he'd heard much more than Myrcella's fawning over his older brother's disarmingly good looks. She wanted to say more, but the words that came to mind were far from appropriate in the company of their mothers, so she refrained and rolled her eyes instead. He responded by laughing and kissing her temple before grasping her smaller hand in his larger one once more and turning to Catelyn and Cersei.

"I would like to show the Princess the godswood, if Your Grace would allow me the honor," he kindly asked Cersei. As it looked like her mother was beginning to say no, Davina jumped in, displaying none of the propriety she'd been taught, but desperate to see one of the places she'd read so much about over the years.

"With an escort of your choosing, Mother, of course. It will only be for a few minutes, right my love?" she interjected, directing the last bit towards Kol with a raised brow, silently telling him just to trust her.

"Of course," he agreed readily, understanding her unspoken plea all too easily, almost as if they shared one mind. Davina bit her lip as her mother glanced between them several times, back and forth, and caught her eyes at the first opportunity, silently pleading with her as well.

 _If you love me as much as you claim, allow me this small freedom. Prove to me that I am as dear to you as my brothers and sister._

Finally, after what felt like hours, her mother's unwavering expression softened slightly, and Davina released a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. "As long as you are not gone long," she conceded before her eyes swept out over the gathering, easily picking out Jaime's form as he began stalking away from Kol's father. Davina's overjoyed smile slowly morphed into a frown as she felt the annoyance radiating from him as if it were her own.

Jaime and Cersei's eyes met, a silent conversation enveloping them, scarily similar to the one she and Kol had just shared, before he nodded and her mother's eyes returned to hers. "Go then, and be back before the hour is up." The happiness emanating from Davina was so potent, she couldn't help but lean over and kiss her mother's smooth, pale cheek in show of thanks before allowing Kol to lead her away.

He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as they made their way through the masses with Jaime following some ten feet or so behind them. "What is it you are so desperate to show me in the godswood?" she asked, having to speak louder than she would like in order for him to hear her over the commotion.

"You'll see," he said with a mischievous smile.

* * *

"If we weren't expected to marry in the Sept of Baelor," Kol began as they stopped in front of the massive weirwood tree that resided in the middle of Winterfell's godswood, "then dare say it, I would've lobbied to have us married under this tree here." He thoughtfully laid a hand on the bark, seemingly deep in thought, and Davina took the chance to drink in her surroundings. Every castle had a godswood, and the Red Keep was no different, but in the South, most had been converted to gardens or places of entertainment, seeing as how the First Men had built them to worship the Old Gods, not the Seven.

The tree itself was stunning - pale, thick bark adorned with crimson colored leaves that differentiated it from all others. She could only imagine how breathtaking it would be when surrounded by freshly fallen snow. If she focused enough in the dim light, she swore she could almost make out some semblance of a face, but before she could inspect further, Kol had turned back to her.

"In your last letter, you mentioned requesting Robert reconsider the line of succession...what did he say?" The letter he spoke of had been sent a fortnight before she'd been presented at court. It had been brief, as she'd already been second guessing herself, and had detailed her hopes, dreams, and fears at all possible outcomes. She'd refrained from writing one in response to the one she'd received shortly after her proposition to her father in favor of surprising Kol with her arrival in his ancestral home.

"He told me he would consider it, truly," she replied with a smile, but beneath the joy she still felt laid a palpable amount of terror that had, in truth, kept her awake during many nights while making her way to Winterfell.

"Are you having second thoughts?" he questioned tenderly, caressing her cheek with his hand. Her lips might've been smiling, but her vibrant, expressive eyes had spoken a different tale altogether. Eventually, emerald met mahogany as she felt salty tears burn the backs of her eyes.

"I _want_ this," she said with a conviction she felt within her very soul. "I want you. I want all of those children we've imagined so many times, I can see them all clearly if I close my eyes. I want the life we've been dreaming of for so long...but I'm afraid." He stroked her cheek, encouraging her to continue. "If my father chooses me over Joffrey, who would support my claim? Would my father's enemies see it as the perfect chance to strike? And Rhaella Targaryen's children are still alive in Essos...how long before they set their sights on us?" She questioned honestly.

"I know there is a war coming, perhaps not tomorrow, or even a year from now, but the blood of the dragon will come again seeking what was stolen from them. While I utilized this fact in my favor, claiming I could protect us a thousand times better than Joff would ever be capable of, I do not wish to start a war if I can help it. There can be no true victory without loss, and you and I both know the fate of the last royal family. I fear that will happen to us."

The night following that day at court, she'd had a dream where she was in much the same place Elia Martell had been at the time of her gruesome demise - sickly and weak from childbirth, clutching her newborn son to her chest as her daughter whimpered softly in the corner. She could still remember the sounds of enemy forces going from door to door, searching for she and her children. In the dream, she'd received news that Viserys had managed to slay Kol on the battlefield and had immediately set off for King's Landing in order to take back what was his. She'd woken before she'd been found, but her quivering had been all too real, and had remained so well into the night as she laid awake, staring at her ceiling. A slight shiver ran through her just thinking about it.

"That will not happen to us, Davina," he swore, pulling her into his arms as she burrowed into the warmth of his embrace. In her periphery, she saw Jaime - who was standing a good twenty five paces away - shift his weight uncomfortably at the display of affection. "By the Old Gods and New, I swear to you, we will slay that spinless dragon, together, and be rid of he and his troublesome family for good. He will not take away all our fathers have built, and what we seek to add to their legacy. Our child shall sit the throne after you, and their child after them. We will leave the world better than when we came into it," he vowed powerfully, sounding every bit a king, before pulling away and kneeling at her feet.

She frowned, unsure of his actions, for they were foreign to her, though his words had sent a flare of warmth spiraling through her chest that she identified as hope. He reached into the breast pocket of his tunic and pulled out something small and silver that shone in the moonlight. Taking her left hand in his, he held it out for her, and to her amazement, she saw a ring sitting in his palm, as masterfully crafted as she had ever beheld.

"I know that this is unnecessary, since our fathers have already agreed upon our union, but I would feel remiss if I didn't ask you outright..." he trailed off bashfully, sounding nervous, as he took her left hand in his. "Davina of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, First of Your Name, Crown Princess of the Andals and the First Men, Rightful Heir of Robert, Future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms...would you do me the supreme honor of gifting me your hand in marriage?"

All Davina could do was nod, a watery smile spreading across her features, and he slid the ring onto the finger to the left of her middle one. The radiant smile that bloomed on her love's face filled her with more happiness and joy than she could ever recall feeling, and as their lips met, Davina was sure this was what riding a dragon felt like. She felt invincible, untouchable, and immortal in his embrace, and as his fingers threaded into her hair and his tongue pried her lips apart, she felt that same fire as she'd felt earlier that day when he'd kissed her manifest and then magnify a thousand fold, morphing into an inferno that she swore would burn her alive at the first touch of their tongues.

Emboldened with a desire she'd never felt before, her arms wound their way around his neck, drawing their bodies together until there was barely any space left between them. In response, Kol groaned into her mouth before wrapping his own around her waist, eliminating whatever distance remained, making Davina gasp. Her fingers disappeared into the dark waves at the nape of his neck as his own traveled to her hips, tightening and drawing her against him with a low moan.

The sensation of something pawing at her dress caused her to pull back abruptly, and upon looking down, she was met with a pair of intelligent, curious amber eyes belonging to a dark grey wolf pup. Completely entranced by the sight of Kol's direwolf pup he himself had written her of before she'd left King's Landing, she laughed softly before kneeling down next to it, paying her intended little mind as he growled softly in frustration.

The sound caused the pup to cock its head, glancing up to its owner for a moment before turning it's attention back to her. "You must be Shadow," she murmured gently, holding out her hand for the male wolf pup to sniff. She herself had never had a dog, but she'd heard of their intelligence and loyalty, and aside from reuniting with Kol and meeting his family, bonding with Shadow was something she'd looked forward to greatly.

Shadow sniffed her hand with his nose for a quick moment before readily nudging it. She laughed again and acquiesced to his request, scratching him behind the ears. He was much larger than Kol had described, and though it had been a moon and a half since he'd last written of him, it was hard for her to imagine an animal growing at such an alarming rate. She could tell he was still a pup, but he was already the size of a large dog.

"I thought I told you to wait in the stableyard," Kol said not so kindly, clearly annoyed at his wolf's interruption, causing Shadow's ears to lower back against his head in response to the reprimand.

"Well, I don't blame him. With everything going on tonight, the stableyard seems awfully dull," she said in Shadow's defense, though there was a playful edge to her voice.

"Davina, my mother explicitly told me-" he cut off abruptly as Shadow's ears pricked and he cocked his head, his tail beating the ground in an uncertain rhythm. Davina shot Kol a look before laughing at Shadow's reaction.

"Yeah, about that...I might mention your name a good bit when it's the two of us alone, to the point of which he recognizes it," he said sheepishly, scratching the back of his head for a moment before bending down next to her. "Shadow," he began, chuckling as Shadow's intelligent amber eyes shot to meet his without hesitation. "This is Davina." He laid a hand on her shoulder, accentuating her name with the action, and Shadow's tail began to twitch in uncertainty once more, a happy whine building in his throat as his eyes flicked back and forth between the two.

Kol simply nodded in reassurance and then Shadow was all over her - licking her face, hands, ears, anything he could reach - making her squeal loudly. He allowed his direwolf to display the clear love he already felt for Davina for a few moments before gently pushing him away with a chuckle. "Easy boy, give her space. Wouldn't want to scare her off already, would you?" Based off the look in Shadow's eyes, Davina could tell that he comprehended what Kol told him, and as he dutifully sat back on his haunches, waiting for Kol's next command, Davina laughed before lightly whacking her intended in the gut.

"Oh, don't mess with him like that! It's cruel." Kol rolled his eyes at that as he reached out and ruffled Shadow behind the ear.

"Come on, you...we best get you back with the rest of them before Mother finds out you escaped." Davina followed his lead as he stood, looping her right arm through his proffered left one as they began making their way towards Jaime with Shadow flanking Davina's side. Seeing this as perhaps her best chance to introduce the two most important men in her life to one another without interruptions, she gently tugged on Kol's arm, her eyes going to Jaime's silhouette as he stood in the entryway to the godswood before returning to him hopefully. To her relief, Kol nodded, and she practically dragged him along behind her as they hastily closed the distance between themselves and her beloved uncle.

"Jaime!" she called out, gaining his attention, though she knew said attention had never not been on them to begin with. "This..." she began as she pulled Kol up beside her with a look of great pride shining in her eyes. "This is the boy I'm, as you so eloquently put it, _so keen on marrying_ ," she imitated his words with a slight laugh, and the sound was infectious as Kol and Jaime both smiled in response to it.

To her great surprise, Kol extended his hand first in a very respectful way, displaying a level of gratitude she was sure her dear uncle was not at all used to. "It truly is an honor, Ser. Davina has told me so much about you in her letters," he said amicably, and by the look on Jaime's face, not many addressed him with such honesty or genuine respect as Kol had. Though still looking slightly taken aback, Jaime returned the handshake readily, his well known charming smile slowly spreading across his face, masking his uncertainty.

"All good things, I hope," he shot back conversationally, displaying a willingness to give Kol a chance at the very least - something she knew in her heart would take years and many children for Cersei to even consider doing.

"She thinks very highly of you," Kol agreed with his own charming smile. Looking between the two, Davina couldn't help but imagine the havoc they could wreak on a room full of women with their dastardly good looks and charisma alone, much less together. She smiled as she realized the probability of either doing so was slim to none. If they could agree on one thing, it would be their steadfast loyalty and devotion to the one they loved. Davina hoped they had more in common than that, but it was as good a starting point as any. "As do I," Kol admitted.

The shock on Jaime's face would've told Davina all she needed to know about what had transpired between Jaime and Ned immediately following the Mad King's death had Jaime himself not already told her.

After sparring one day several years ago, she'd asked Jaime purely out of curiosity, and though he'd been hesitant, her encouragement had earned her privy to his own personal account that, to this day, he'd only possibly told her mother, if that. It was possible her mother hadn't even cared to hear it. Her heart had broken for him that day, and she'd cried, both in anger and sadness, on his account. No matter what the rest of the Realm thought of him, Jaime had made the right decision, even when caught between a proverbial rock and a hard place as Maester Pycelle would say. His actions had saved millions of lives, and she would swear to that fact until her dying day. To hell with Kol's seemingly noble father, who'd judged him the moment he'd laid eyes on Jaime sitting the Iron Throne with Aerys Targaryen's lifeless body lying at his feet. She knew the truth of it, and thanks to her, so did Kol.

"I know my father would prefer to think the worst of you, but because of Davina, I have the utmost respect for you. Who knows what would've happened had the Mad King gone through with his plan to burn King's Landing to ash - most of the people sitting in the great hall would either be dead or have never existed in the first place," he theorized, and Davina found his reasoning to be sound.

If King's Landing had been burned, then Jaime, Robert, Ned, and many others would've perished in the flames. In one fell swoop, in his dying act, Aerys would've annihilated many, highborn and commoner alike. The world would be a much darker, hopeless place had Jaime not made the ultimate sacrifice. Robb would've been the only Stark child Catelyn had borne and either way she looked at it, she wouldn't have been alive.

"The Realm owes you a great debt, Ser Jaime, and though I know you might never receive the respect you deserve, you should know that you will always have ours." He glanced Davina's way for a moment, and she nodded in encouragement. "Which is why Davina and I would be honored if you would be Lord Commander of her Queensguard...after Ser Barristan passes on, of course. I can think of no one more capable or worthy of it than you. I know that I can always trust you to have Davina's best interests in mind, for I can see you care for her as much as she cares for you."

Davina tried her best to hold back a grin at the sight of Jaime's clearly awestruck expression that reminded her primarily of the first time she'd managed to disarm him during a sparring lesson.

"I...I would be honored," he said finally before one corner of his mouth curved into a sly smile that reminded her all too much of the man standing beside her. "Though, I hope I've taught her well enough so that she'd never need my intervention if anything were to ever happen...tell me, what is your weapon of choice? I distinctly remember you being ungainly with a blade." Davina's laugh then was perhaps the most boisterous and hearty she'd experienced in a long time as Jaime turned the tables on Kol, though he wasn't wrong.

Kol had attempted to spar with her once near the end of his stay in King's Landing, but he'd been clumsy and sloppy in his technique - something Jaime clearly hadn't forgotten, though she suspected he'd had to dig deep into his memory to find something to hold over him, She distinctly remembered knocking him flat on his ass while Jaime had laughed to his heart's content.

"I might not be the best with a sword, but I can put an arrow through the eye of a boar from two hundred paces." Kol's prowess with a bow was much like what hers was with a sword - deadly, efficient, and accurate. He never missed a shot, not since he was strong enough to pull back the string to knock an arrow. Davina watched as Jaime nodded, feigning impression, before patting him on the shoulder.

"Davina could make the shot from two hundred a fifty," he said in dismissal, the ghost of a smile spreading across his features as he turned and began making his way back to the feast. She knew that, despite the antagonistic nature of their delivery, the words had been said in jest...but it didn't make them any less true.

When Kol had informed her of his success with the bow, she'd set out to match him in skill, and while truly neither knew who was the better, it was close. If Davina proved even half as talented with it as Kol, then she was rather formidable to say the least.

Kol made a move to follow Jaime, breaking away from her and sprinting to catch up to him. She stayed back for a moment, admiring them as they playfully argued amongst themselves, and she couldn't help the soft, bittersweet smile that graced her features at the sight before lifting the skirt of her dress as she hurried to catch them with Shadow ever present at her side.

* * *

The next morning, Davina was busying herself with adjusting Rose's tack in preparation for the hunt while her Uncle Tyrion sat just a few paces from her, clearly feeling the nasty aftereffects of a night full of too much wine. Ser Sandor Clegane, better known as the Hound, Joffrey's personal guard, was seated next to him, fixing his boots.

Nearly all the Kingsguard were in attendance save Jaime, who'd graciously volunteered, as he had so many times before, to skip the festivities in favor of staying behind to guard the Queen and her children. Davina had to stop herself before her mind traveled to what exactly they could be doing now or had done in the past when Robert had been out in the Kingswood. She might be sick if she thought on it too long.

"Rough night, Imp?" the Hound asked. Davina had to stifle a chuckle at the look of pure, self-inflicted misery that passed across Tyrion's face, which was turning greener by the second.

"If I get through this without squirting from one end or the other, it'll be a miracle," he replied, sounding every bit as miserable as he looked. Personally, Davina hoped she wasn't around when that happened. She could handle blood and innards just fine, but when it came to the contents of a person's stomach, she was as weak as they came.

"Didn't pick you for a hunter," Sandor commented, sounding surprised that her uncle was even partaking in it.

"The greatest in the land," he shot back. "My spear never misses."

"It's not hunting if you pay for it," came the Hound's reply before sheathing his knife and stalking off. Davina chuckled, loud enough for Tyrion to hear, and his bleary green eyes swung to hers.

"It's not polite to laugh at some else's misery," he chided, struggling to keep his eyes open. She had no idea how much wine he'd consumed the night before, but she could only imagine the pounding sensation he was experiencing in his head at the moment. It was for that reason, aside from her general dislike of the taste, that she refrained from consuming any form of spirit altogether. She'd tried it once, at his prodding, of course, and had felt so awful the next day, she'd sworn off the drink for life.

"Not if it's self-inflicted," she countered with a knowing smile as she slid Rose's bit into her mouth. If she were going off by herself, she wouldn't bother with a saddle or bridle at all, but because she was in the King's party and as a member of the royal family, expected to show at least some level of propriety, she did so out of necessity.

"Do you take pleasure in being a pain in my ass?" He questioned, though the lazy smile on his face told her he thoroughly enjoyed their banter. She was just about the only one in the family who could keep up with him mentally and often times gave back as good as she got.

"Careful, Mother already thinks you're a horrible influence on me...you wouldn't want her to hear you using vulgar language in my presence." He rolled his eyes.

"Your mother has had a perpetual stick up her ass since the day I was born. I couldn't give two shits about what she'd have to say," he commented dryly.

"That would make two of us, then," she said with a sigh, tightening Rose's saddle before testing it, trying and failing to ignore the perplexed look Tyrion shot her way.

"What did happen between the two of you these past weeks?" He questioned curiously, she went to backtrack, intending on denying it, when he held up a hand, stopping her. "You've scarcely said a word to each other and have all but ignored the other's presence." She bit her lip, stroking Rose's neck for a moment before glancing over to him sadly. A light of understanding sparked in his eyes, followed by a wave of sadness. In that moment, she knew he was well aware of the cause behind she and Cersei's distance as of late.

"How long have you known?"

"A moon and a half," she responded solemnly. "What about you?" He laughed once, humorlessly, at her question before sobering once more.

"Davina, I grew with them both. Your grandfather might've been blind to their actions, but I certainly wasn't." She felt her stomach roil as if she'd be sick at his words. She'd known their affair had extended to the time right before her birth, but Tyrion was suggesting it'd begun long before then. Pity formed in his eyes for her, obviously seeing the distress written all across her face, before answering her unspoken question.

 _How long?_

"For as long as I can remember...since they were children." She swallowed back the bile that'd risen in her throat at his answer before putting on a mask of indifference, as she'd seen Cersei do so many times before. Nodding, she met his eyes.

"Thank you. You've been more honest with me in so few words than she's been all my life." Tyrion sighed at her reply.

"Despite her questionable methods...I do know she loves you fiercely, Davina. If nothing else, never doubt how much she cares for you," he said before his eyes darted to behind her, and she turned, an unconscious smile gracing her features as she watched Kol joking with Robb and his Uncle Benjen while sitting astride his mount for the hunt.

"He seems like a good boy."

"He's already twice the man Robert Baratheon will ever be, of that I can assure you," she said as their eyes met, and the smile that spread across his face nearly blinded her with it's beauty before he left his brother and uncle and approached them.

She swung up into the saddle expertly, refusing the help of a stable hand when offered before glancing back down to her uncle. "Are you sure you're feeling up to this? I'd hate for you to sully the Lannister name in such an embarrassing manner," she teased, pushing away her still turbulent emotions about Jaime and Cersei for the time being in favor of spending an entire day with Kol.

"I'll be fine," Tyrion said with a lazy smile before his eyes went to Kol again. "Tell him," he said encouragingly, shocking her greatly. Surely anyone else would've advised the opposite, but Tyrion was different. He could see how fervently the two loved each other, and knew what it felt like to have someone, even briefly. "The boy clearly worships the ground you walk on. You could tell him you were born with a tail and horns and he'd still look at you with the same love struck expression. He won't forsake you."

His words cracked the seemingly unshakable front she'd put up, and she smiled with watery eyes. "Thank you, Uncle. Truly." He nodded before gesturing to Kol again. She wasted no time in urging Rose forward, meeting him halfway as the party began departing through the gates of Winterfell with Robert and Ned at the helm.

"I need to talk to you," she said as they fell into place at the tail end of the group. "Not now," she murmured as he opened his mouth, probably to tell her she could talk in that moment. Glancing around and seeing as though no one was paying much attention to either of them, she leaned just a fraction closer to him. "In about an hour or so, what do you think about us breaking away and finding a place where we can speak openly, without fear of being overheard?"

The look in his eyes at this was near indecipherable, but it almost appeared as if he had some things to say to her as well, before he nodded.

"I know just the place."

* * *

"Wow," she breathed as they dismounted, her breath catching as she laid eyes on the hot spring Kol had led her to after they'd snuck away from the hunting party. It wasn't terribly large, but it was sequestered away, tucked into a hillside that ensured privacy, with trees on all sides. He smiled at her reaction as he led his mount over to a large fallen tree and set about securing its reins to one of the thicker branches.

"I used to come here to read your letters sometimes," he admitted while she did the same with Rose as he'd done with his horse. When she was finished, he took her hand and led her over to a different tree, this one standing and flourishing with vibrant green leaves thanks to the spring nearby, as was the rest of the vegetation surrounding it, and sat down at its base, pulling her with him.

He leaned back against it, moving to draw her against his chest when she resisted, placing a hand - the one adorned with the ring he'd given her the night before - just above his heart. She bit her lip, studying the beautiful simplicity of the band that she'd already grown accustomed to. It was quite possible he'd demand it back after hearing what she had to say, and if that were to happen, she wanted to savor the feeling, the all too familiar weight of it, as it rested there.

"I..." she began, trailing off as panic filled her. What if he looked on her with disgust when she mentioned the likelihood of Jaime being her father? Would he be afraid of her once he learned of her abilities? The odds were against her, for even if he did the unspeakable by accepting her, despite her possible parentage, there was still the chance he'd reject her for being a witch.

She was so busy working herself into a frenzy that she failed to see him move until he'd tilted her chin upwards gently, directing her eyes to meet the soft brown ones she had fallen in love with once again in the past day. "You're shaking," he murmured with a frown as he felt her tremble in his arms. "Davina, whatever it is...you must know you can tell me," he said encouragingly. She took one, two, three deep breaths in an attempt to quell her nerves before closing her eyes with an almost defeated sigh.

 _The boy clearly worships the ground you walk on. You could tell him you were born with a tail and horns and he'd still look at you with the same love struck expression. He won't forsake you._

"A few days before Lord Arryn died, he handed me a note outside my chambers and made me promise I'd burn it after reading it," she began, looking away from his dark, searching, soulful eyes. "In it, he..." she trailed off again, a lump forming in her throat.

"He what?" Kol prompted gently, giving her courage.

"He claimed Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen were not fathered by the King...a claim my mother herself has confessed to be true." Kol was silent for a few moments causing Davina's fear to grow substantially with each passing second, but she never would've expected his next words.

"They're Jaime's, aren't they?" he asked solemnly. She looked up at him sharply, equal parts fearful and shocked.

"How could you possibly...does this pertain to what you need to tell me?" she asked uncertainly, relaxing slightly after he nodded. He released a deep breath that mirrored her own of earlier, before launching into his own confession.

"Since I was a boy, I've been able to...to _see_ things - things that've already happened and ones that still haven't come to pass." She cocked her head in curiosity. "For example, the night before I left Winterfell for King's Landing, I dreamt of your face as you hid behind your mother's skirts." She remembered the awestruck expression he'd worn as he'd first set eyes upon her all too well. "It's how I can sympathize with Jaime instead of look down on him."

"You saw him kill the Mad King," she breathed in realization. He nodded in assent.

"If a madman such as Aerys ever demanded I deliver my father's head to him, I would've chosen the same. I believe I would've done much worse to the old fool after learning of his plans for the city," he muttered solemnly.

"Burn them all," she whispered, and he nodded gravely. "Jaime told me that was all he'd said for hours."

"He intended to burn with the rest of them and be reborn as a dragon," Kol said, sounding equally disgusted and astonished, a feeling she herself echoed greatly. There was no arguing that Aerys had gone mad in his later years, whether that could be attributed to Targaryens wedding brother and sister or something else entirely, she wasn't sure, but no one could deny his lack of sanity during the rebellion.

If she didn't possess supernatural abilities of her own, she didn't know if she'd believe him or not, but because she did, it was all too easy for her to accept it without much thought or questioning on her part.

"About a moon and a half ago, I saw your argument, or at least bits and pieces of it," he began, no doubt referring to the confrontation she'd had with Cersei and Jaime a few miles outside of King's Landing. "I do remember hearing you say, _what am I to you, Mother? Some bronzed haired freak that can do things normal girls shouldn't be able to do? The daughter of a man whose throat you'd rather slit than allow in your bed again?...Or am I his?_ You then gestured to Jaime and I immediately knew." He reached out and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. She'd worn it completely tied back in a braid that day, but the wind had ruffled it just the right way to cause the shorter strands of hair surrounding her face to fall out of it.

"Davina, I don't care what blood runs through your veins or what name you bear. Lannister or Baratheon, _you_ are the one I love; _my_ Davina. All that matters to me is you - your smile, your laugh, the way you glare at me when you're annoyed, the look in your eyes when you're with Myrcella... _that_ is what I love. It doesn't matter to me that you might be the product of a union the gods see as unholy, or that you possess a magic potent enough to shake the very foundations of King's Landing." He intertwined their hands together as she looked at him in shock, and upon looking down as her eyes followed the action, she now saw that he wore a ring identical to the one he'd given her.

"I don't care about all of that," he said honestly, and she could sense the conviction he himself felt. A gentle, soft smile spread across his handsome features. "And as for the future...I don't dread it. How could I when it is you?" He questioned rhetorically before sliding his hands into her hair at the nape of her neck, cradling the back of her head.

"I fear no fate, for you are my fate, Davina," he murmured quietly. Having rendered her speechless, she reached out, caressing his cheek, before doing the first and only thing that came to mind.

She kissed him.

* * *

In the end, they'd eventually gotten up and left in order to actually find something worthwhile to bring back to Winterfell with them. Kol had spotted a small stag not far from the spring and they'd each taken a shot with Kol putting his arrow through the beast's eye while Davina had gone for the heart. As they'd approached their joint kill, she'd rolled her eyes at his attempt to impress her with his archery skills. He was still fairly bothered by Jaime's comment, though he'd never let her blonde uncle know it, so she hadn't called him out on it.

They passed through the gates of Winterfell just as the Sun was beginning to set. If she were to wager a guess, the hunting party had only beaten them by an hour or so, and at least they had something to show for their absence. Her father would no doubt overlook what most would consider an indiscretion when she presented him with a stag's head and meat for their next meal.

No sooner had they dismounted their horses than did Arya come running towards them, appearing distraught. She launched herself into Kol's arms, and he caught her, holding her against him as she trembled. With a worried frown, Davina approached the pair and laid a hand on Arya's shoulder.

"What is it, little wolf?" She asked softly. Arya turned watery eyes to her soon to be good sister, but before she could reply, Jon came jogging into the courtyard. His appearance made both Kol and Davina stand with Arya remaining in her older brother's arms.

"Kol...it's Bran."

* * *

 **A/N** : _So, my fellow Kolvina lovers and Game of Thrones fans...how was it? I know it was super duper long, but there's just so much material to cover since I'm basing each chapter off it's corresponding episode in the series, plus this chapter had to lay a ton of foundation and backstory for my favorite kindred souls. And I know Kol is somewhat OOC, but a huge part of his character in the TVD/TO universe is rooted in his family troubles, which obviously he has none of since the Starks are nothing like the Mikaelsons. He's still hopelessly in love with Davina and would do anything to protect her, as well as being a general snarky, smart ass, so there's that I guess? I don't know...anyways, I would love to hear what you guys thought and Chapter 2 should be up fairly soon :)_


	2. A Better Tomorrow

**Title: The Wolf & The Lioness**

 **Chapter 2: A Better Tomorrow (GoT 1x02)**

 **Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. If I had anything to do with TO, Davina never would've died and she and Kol would be blissfully happy like they are here (at least for the most part).**

 **Genre: Supernatural/Fantasy**

 **Rating: M**

 **Pairings: Kol & Davina, Jaime & Cersei (Canon), Gendry & Arya (Future), Robb & Myrcella (Future)**

 **A/N: I apologize for this taking so long, first of all. My end of January/beginning of February was super busy (and so will the rest of my February) but somehow I found the time to finish this. It's not my best, but I promise next chapter is going to be the best chapter of Kolvina ff out there I swear...I'll tell you why at the end...hope you like this regardless! (Please excuse any formatting mistakes as the editor was giving me serious issues)**

 **Warning: Mentions of incest. I'm never going to go full blown incest here, even though I do find myself shipping Jaime & Cersei at points, but their relationship is a huge part of Davina's story as well as the main plot, so just be forewarned...it's there.**

* * *

She stroked the downy hairs at the nape of his neck softly as the pale, winter-esque sunlight streamed through the foggy window panes of her chambers. It'd been a fortnight since they'd returned from the hunt and learned of Bran's fall from the tower, and until the night before, she'd hardly seen Kol, who'd maintained a constant presence by his younger brother's bedside with their mother. Though she'd felt his absence acutely, she wholeheartedly understood and supported his devotion to his family. She knew she'd do no less if it were 'Cella or Tommen in Bran's place.

She had tried to keep Arya and Rickon occupied in the meantime, seeing as how Catelyn never left Bran's room and the two younger Starks were searching for a person to latch onto. Archery lessons, games of tag, and sparring sessions abounded in the days following Bran's accident. She'd even managed to coax 'Cella and Tommen away from Cersei long enough for the two golden haired cubs to mingle with the wolf pups, often teaming up in order to chase her around Winterfell.

As the days turned to a week, and then two, she'd begun to notice the peculiar behaviors of both her mother and Jaime whenever Bran's name was mentioned. It was typically just a quick glance shared between the two, but it was prolonged and significant enough to arouse her suspicions about the events leading up to his fall from the tower.

On multiple occasions, she'd heard of his superior climbing skills, and not for a moment did she believe that he'd simply slipped from such a precarious height without any outside interference. It hadn't taken her long to theorize his fall had been no true accident, but an intentional shove by someone who still resided at Winterfell.

Her gut screamed that he'd happened upon her mother and Jaime in a compromising position and her uncle had taken matters into his own hands on ensuring Bran kept quiet. It made perfect sense - the abandoned tower, Jaime's absence from the hunt, the guilt she saw in his eyes whenever he saw her with Arya and Rickon - and that frightened her. The thought of Bran happening upon them in a moment of passion was scarring enough for her, but to have Jaime nearly kill the boy who, for all intents and purposes, was her brother?

As she looked up at the ceiling, she shook her head slightly. _He's only a boy of ten,_ she thought sadly. Even if he did wake, he'd surely never walk again. Maester Luwin, the Stark's primary maester, had examined his legs and determined they'd never function properly again. He'd never walk, run, climb, ride, or fight like he had before. Davina couldn't think of a more mundane, depressing existence.

She'd kept her suspicions to herself, and while she'd tell Kol soon, she'd do so once they were back in the Crownlands, after they were wed. A revelation like this would destroy any chance of a union between House Lannister and House Stark, and they would be ripped apart once more, permanently this time. Once she was Queen, and he King, she would allow him to rain down all his fury on her mother and uncle, but only when they were both well protected and virtually untouchable. If he attempted anything sooner, or if he informed Ned and he decided to take matters into his own hands, Cersei was liable to strike back with punishing force. She knew it was wrong to keep something so vital from him, but she couldn't bear the thought of him being caught in the crossfire in the war their families would wage as a result.

His stirring broke her from her thoughts, and she glanced down as his tired brown eyes turned up to meet her green ones. He smiled lazily, a sight that made her heart sing. She hadn't seen that smile in weeks, but he'd come to her the night before after receiving news that Bran would in fact live, though permanently impaired. She'd refused his apology before hugging him fiercely as his eyes had watered with joy and relief. It'd been extremely foolish and reckless, but she'd begged him to stay and allow her to comfort him.

He'd been resistant at first, but all she'd had to do was promise to respect his virtue - which had made him laugh - and he'd agreed. She knew the rumors that could potentially spread if any of the Stark's servants happened upon them, but he'd needed her, even if he hadn't said it...who was she to refuse him? So, he'd respectfully turned his back while she'd changed into her dressing gown - a pristine white, off the shoulder garment - and then laid down with her, originally intending on keeping to one side of the bed, but allowing himself to be drawn into her embrace, settling his head on her chest as he'd drifted off to the soothing rhythm of her heart.

"What are you thinking on so loudly?" he questioned, his voice rough from sleep. She smiled and shook her head.

"Nothing of great importance," she denied easily, filing her suspicions away to consider them more after their wedding. She didn't want to think on such things and taint their time together any more than it already had. "I'm just marveling at how lucky I am to be promised to such a pleasant looking young lord," she said with a teasing lilt tinging her tone. He shook his head before rolling completely on top of her, trapping her between the bed and his body.

"It is I who am the lucky one," he argued lightly, pressing his forehead to hers. "I am going to marry the most beautiful, kind, intelligent, inspiring, strong, willful woman in all of the known world." She went to shake her head, denying his claims, but he quieted her by gently caressing her cheek. "You are."

"You won't think that when I'm swollen with our first child," she denied with a laugh, but the sound died in her throat at the look of pure devotion shining in his amber eyes.

"You're wrong," he swore. "You will be just as stunning then as you are now, and I will always want you. The King might seek out other outlets of pleasure on a regular basis, but I will never stray from your bed. I will father no other children but the ones that will come from your womb.

I will remain true to you, and only you, until my dying day," he vowed passionately. She was silent for a few moments, awestruck by his promise. It was more than common for a lord to seek out company while his wife was carrying his child and for bastards to be born of said company. Robert himself no doubt had many illegitimate children, and even Ned Stark had fathered one himself. Kol swearing to never betray her in such a way meant more than she could ever describe.

"How do you always know just what to say?" She asked with a laugh.

"I suppose you inspire me," he murmured with a smile before kissing her forehead gently. "I would never need to take a mistress or any other to our bed simply because I have you. What more could I possibly want? A love like ours, Davina, could burn all of King's Landing to ash."

"That's so very touching to hear." At the sound of her mother's voice, Davina's eyes went wide and she froze for a moment before shoving Kol off of her and ducking under the sheets with a barely audible squeal. He groaned as he hit the stone floor with a resounding thud, and while Davina winced at both sounds, her disbelief at her mother having watched their entire exchange overroad her guilt.

With an immense amount of trepidation, she cautiously peeked out from underneath the sheets, only to quickly retreat back under at seeing her mother's extremely unamused smile staring back at her as she held a half empty goblet of wine while sitting next to the table by the window on the opposite side of the room. She hurriedly straightened her nightdress and took several deep breaths before running a hand back through her tangled waves.

"We did nothing wrong," she claimed, her voice coming out a tad higher in pitch than she intended. Beside the bed, she heard Kol echo her words as he slowly picked himself up off the floor. She blushed as she remembered he'd slept without an undershirt on, so the physical evidence was certainly against them. Finally, after what felt like hours, she gained the courage to emerge from the sheets and furs and meet her mother's unreadable green gaze.

"I would surely hope not," Cersei said eventually, her eyes flicking over to Kol's form as he sat on the edge of the bed. Davina couldn't help but glance his way too, immediately flushing bright red at the sight of his toned chest, stomach, and arms. "You would have a hard time explaining the absence of your maiden's blood after the bedding ceremony if you had." Davina looked away from Kol guiltily but refused to meet her mother's judging gaze. The thought of allowing all of the men at their wedding feast the freedom to tear off her clothes before carrying her to her chambers - as well as all of the women in Kol's case - in preparation for their consummation simultaneously frightened and disgusted her.

She'd heard tales of Aerys Targaryen himself, the Mad King, having taken certain liberties with her grandmother, Joanna, during she and Tywin's wedding. He'd always desired Joanna, and she suspected it'd been why Tywin had stepped down as Hand of the King and had retreated to Casterly Rock almost immediately following his wedding. She made a mental note to beg Robert to forgo the tradition at their wedding, or else she was liable to injure some poor, unsuspecting lords, both young and old.

"I can assure you, Mother," she began with an edge to her voice, "no child of Kol and I's will be conceived outside the bonds of marriage. It wouldn't do to have the future king or queen be born illegitimate now, would it?" she asked icily, earning a cold look in response, which she refused to back down from. She'd long since discovered that he easiest way to get under her mother's skin was to talk ill of Joffrey, her perfect, golden child.

When she'd been little, she'd begrudgingly accepted her mother's clear favoritism and had gravitated to Jaime and Tyrion instead, forming strong, loving bonds with them both - and that was something Joffrey had and would never have. He might have their mother, but Davina had their uncles, one of which was potentially one or both of their fathers. She believed herself to have the better end of that deal.

"Well, I need to go finish packing my things. I've been worrying about Bran so much that I've neglected preparing for our journey home," Kol said, a statement clearly meant to relieve the tension that'd fallen over them, as well as the silence. She turned her eyes away from her mother in order to meet his, and they softened immediately, almost unconsciously, in response. They were to leave for King's Landing at midday - a prospect that should've overjoyed Cersei - and she had to finish gathering her things as well.

"Are you sure you'll have enough time, my love?" she asked, knowing the title would annoy her mother all the more. Kol, now completely dressed, smiled softly at her before kissing her on the forehead gently.

"I can find most of what I need in the capital. I shouldn't be long," he murmured before departing, bowing respectfully and addressing Cersei formally on his way out. Davina climbed out of bed and grabbed her brush before sitting down in front of the vanity. She could feel her mother's eyes practically burning holes into the back of her skull as she began detangling her bronze mane, but she ignored her resolutely.

"I expect to see you in the great hall before the hour is up." Davina made a move to argue that she, too, truly needed to gather her things, when her mother stopped her as she'd seen Tywin do with Cersei many a time. "You will break your fast with your family, or you will not eat," she reiterated sternly.

As she swept out of the room without another word, Davina bit down on her tongue hard, drawing blood, waiting until she heard the door shut before throwing the brush at it. The solid thunk it made as it hit the wood resounded around the room while she fought the strong urge to scream.

* * *

She was walking through the courtyard, headed for the great hall, when she spotted Joffrey, shadowed by the Hound, standing in front of one of the dog pens. Against her better judgement, she approached him carefully, her curiosity over what he found so interesting outweighing her wish to avoid any sort of confrontation that ended with one or both of them marked with a nasty bruise, as their fights so often came to blows. Over the years, they'd grown better at hiding the evidence - striking each other where most would never see - but someone Cersei always knew when they'd had a squabble, and typically, Davina would be the one punished for picking on her poor defenseless little brother.

"What has captured your interest, dear brother?" she asked patronizingly once she was only a few paces away. If Joff heard the tinge of sarcasm in her voice, he didn't acknowledge it.

"Looks like our beloved uncle went looking for company last night, sweet sister." The smugness in his tone made her ball her fists at her sides in order to fight the impulse to knock the obvious smile clean off his face. Upon reaching his side, she was met with the sight of their Uncle Tyrion, clearly having passed out after having one too many drinks, stirring while blearily shooing away a dog.

"Better looking bitches than you're used to, Uncle?" he asked as Tyrion stood with an unamused scowl. If Joff weren't there, she would've made a joke that would've undoubtedly lifted his spirits, but because of his annoying presence beside her, she refrained. "Mother's been looking for you," he began, sounding the least prick-like he had in years. "We ride for King's Landing today."

"Before you go, you will call on Lord and Lady Stark and offer your sympathies, as your sister here did weeks ago," Tyrion said, gesturing to Joffrey before pointing to her.

"What good will my sympathies do them?" Joff retorted as Tyrion exited the pen before turning an unimpressed look at the would be future king. Even despite hearing of her speech before court and her father's sudden interest and clear favoritism directed her way, Joffrey still believed, without a doubt, that he would sit the Iron Throne one day. He was as blind and foolish as he was arrogant and stupid.

"None...but it is expected of you. Your absence has already been noted."

"The boy means nothing to me," Joffrey shot back. "And I can't stand the wailing of women," he said in a tone that made Davina's blood boil as he looked over his shoulder to the Hound, like he was trying to impress him by being a prick. If Tyrion hadn't delivered a light blow to his cheek in the next moment, she undoubtedly would've honored him with much worse. He whimpered like the little boy he truly was before turning to Tyrion in shock.

"One word and I hit you again."

"I'm telling mother!" Davina had to fight back a laugh as Tyrion slapped his other cheek, though she did nothing to quell the immense satisfaction she felt as she saw the look of disbelief written across his handsome features. In truth, if he weren't in the possession of such an ugly character, Davina supposed he would grow to be rather good looking. Poor, unsuspecting Sansa had already fallen prey to him without even realizing it, and he'd barely spoken to her at all.

"Go, tell her...but first, you will go to Lord and Lady Stark, and you will fall on your knees in front of them and tell them how very sorry you are; that you are at their service and all your prayers are with them. Do you understand?"

"You can't-" he cut off with a girlish squeal as he was struck again, but this time, Davina had been the one to deliver the blow.

"You will do as Uncle Tyrion advises, or you will look like the absolute ass you truly are and sully the family name. I don't imagine father taking too kindly to that, would you?" Davina asked, and for the first time in forever, she wasn't met with acid burning in her younger brother's green, identical eyes, but fear.

"Do you understand?" Tyrion asked again. Joffrey's eyes flicked between Davina and Tyrion for several moments before he stalked away, refusing to make eye contact. Davina watched him go with a smug, victorious smile.

"The Prince will remember that," Ser Sandor commented, more to Tyrion than to her, but meant for the both of them all the same.

"I hope he does...if he forgets, be a good dog and remind him," he instructed playfully - though Davina doubted the Hound viewed it as such - before taking her hand and resting it in the crook of his elbow in order to lead her away.

"Time for breakfast!" he exclaimed, making her laugh good naturedly, before turning to her. "Are you hungry, favored niece?" he questioned with a wide smile. Truthfully, she knew that he loved she and Myrcella equally, for they both loved and respected him, but hearing it still felt good.

"After that? Starving," she shot back with a devious smile, making him chuckle.

* * *

"Bread, and two of those little fish," Tyrion instructed a serving girl as they entered into the great hall and moved towards Jaime, Cersei, Myrcella, and Tommen, who were sitting at the head table. "And a mug of warm beer to wash it down." He allowed Davina to mount the steps first, careful not to step on the hem of her dress as he followed behind her. "And bacon, burnt black."

She sat down on the bench next to Jaime as Tyrion playfully scooted Tommen over so he could sit on Jaime's other side. Myrcella now sat across from Tyrion while Cersei was in front of Jaime. Davina smiled as Tommen giggled in delight at his uncle's antics.

"Little brother," Jaime addressed formally, though Davina could hear the smile in his voice. Like she, Myrcella, and Tommen, Jaime loved Tyrion dearly - a notion that had always confused her, even moreso now upon knowing he and Cersei were lovers - no doubt much to her mother's frustration.

"Beloved siblings," he said in greeting, clearly not deterred or intimidated by her mother's piercing glare. She supposed he had long-since grown accustomed to it. Davina quietly snatched a piece of bacon from Jaime's plate while he wasn't looking and devoured it quickly as all eyes were on Tyrion.

"Is Bran going to die?" Myrcella asked hesitantly. Tyrion glanced in Davina's direction before shaking his head. She'd told him the joyous news of Bran's recovery on their brisk walk from the yard to the hall, and he was genuinely pleased upon hearing it.

"Apparently not," he replied before taking a bite of bacon he'd taken from Tommen's plate. Davina's eyes swung to her mother, who appeared to have grown increasingly uncomfortable at the news, while Myrcella smiled.

"What do you mean?" Davina could see a spark of panic ignite in her mother's eyes as she watched her carefully.

"Maester Luwin said that Bran will survive. Kol told me so last night," Davina answered for him with narrowed eyes, studying her mother's reaction for any further proof of guilt - a suspicion confirmed as she shot Jaime a furtive glance. Davina hid her speculation by sipping from her goblet, only to cough as the dark beer Tyrion requested burned the back of her throat. "May I have some water?" she asked the nearest servant politely, who curtsied and went to fetch a water pitcher for her.

"It's no mercy letting a child linger in such pain," Cersei argued carefully while Davina thanked the servant quietly after having a goblet full of water set before her.

"Only the gods know for certain," Tyrion shot back. "All the rest of us can do is pray...The charms of the North seem entirely lost on you," he accused as he snatched two slices of untouched bacon from her plate.

"Still can't believe you're going. It's ridiculous, even for you." Her mother was referring to Tyrion's decision to ride with Jon and Benjen to Castle Black in order to visit the Wall. If Davina weren't perfectly content in returning to King's Landing with Kol at her side, she would've begged Robert to allow her to go with her uncle.

The Wall's creator, Brandon the Builder, an ancient architect who'd erected the massive structure thousands of years before, was a legend known throughout the Seven Kingdoms. He was the founder of Kol's House during the Age of Heroes some eight millennia ago, and was responsible for the building of Winterfell as well as her own ancestral seat, Storm's End, in the Stormlands.

"Where's your sense of wonder? The greatest structure ever built, the intrepid men of the Night's Watch, the wintry abode of the White Walkers!" He tickled Tommen, making her little brother laugh, but Davina froze momentarily at his words, her mind immediately flashing to the nightmare that'd plagued her since just before her flowering. No matter how many times she'd woken screaming in a cold sweat, she couldn't seem to rationalize or make out what exactly she'd seen in the dream, but Tyrion's mention of White Walkers sent a foreboding chill up and down her spine.

Had that been the icy figures she'd seen in her dream? Had the night terrors been visions all along, like Kol's? Was she seeing snippets from the War for the Dawn, where mankind had allegedly risen up against these undead creatures and driven them back North of the Wall? Or was she seeing into the future, envisioning their return? The last time they'd come, winter had lasted an entire generation before summer had finally come again. Stories had called it "The Long Night" and had claimed the world had almost met a cold, bitter end...quite literally.

If she was in fact seeing yet another winter as devastating as that one, spurred on by White Walkers...she shuddered physically at the thought as Tyrion made an inappropriate joke about not taking the vows of celibacy by the men of the Night's Watch because he'd be missed in whorehouses. She mostly ignored him, staring blankly at the table as fear began mounting within her. She had to discuss the possibility of the White Walkers returning as soon as she could get Kol alone.

"...No, I just want to stand on top of the wall and piss off the edge of the world." This earned laughs from both Tommen and Myrcella.

"Children don't need to hear your filth," her mother said firmly before turning her attention to her two youngest cubs. "Come." Davina waited until Cersei and her youngest brother and sister were almost out of the room before standing and making her way towards the door as well, still shaken by the possible implications of her dreams.

* * *

Nearly an hour later, after finishing preparing her things, she was wandering the halls of Winterfell, searching for Kol. She'd tried his chambers first, convinced that there was no way he could've finished packing that quickly, only to find them empty. The godswood had come next, but she'd found his father there instead, seemingly deep in thought. She'd apologized profusely before asking her future good father where his second eldest son might be, to which he'd suggested she try Bran's chambers.

Following his suggestion, she'd made her way to Bran's chambers, pausing a few paces from the door when she found it wide open.

 _"I lost my first boy; little black haired beauty. He was a fighter too."_ At the sound of her mother's voice, she stepped closer to the wall as silently as she could manage. _"Tried to beat the fever that took him...Forgive me. It's the last thing you need to hear right now."_ Not even Davina could tell if her mother's apparent grief was sincere or if it was a ploy to make her appear innocent by appealing to Lady Stark's emotions.

 _"I never knew,"_ Catelyn replied.

 _"It was years ago. Robert was crazed, beat his hands bloody on the wall...all the things men do to show you how much they care. The boy looked just like him. Such a little thing, a bird without feathers. They came to take his body away and Robert held me. I screamed and I battled, but he held me. That little bundle...they took him away and I never saw him again, never visited the crypt, never..."_ her mother's voice trailed off, and Davina found herself wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

If she doubted her mother loved her any less than her younger siblings before, how could she now after hearing the despair in her every word? For a child that bore just as much Baratheon blood as it did Lannister.

 _"I pray to the Mother every morning and night that she return your child to you."_

 _"I am grateful."_

 _"Perhaps this time she'll listen."_

Before Davina could retreat, her mother had exited Bran's chambers and stopped before her, unshed tears still detectable in her vibrant green eyes. Without thinking, Davina launched herself into her arms as she tried and failed to fight back tears of her own. Her mother's hand came up to stroke down her bronze waves in a soothing matter as Davina buried her face against her neck, as she'd done when she was a child.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "Jaime told me about him." She pulled away, only for Cersei to wipe a stray tear from her cheek, making Davina smile sadly. "I'm sorry you lost him...a daughter must seem a poor substitute for a prince." She went to laugh despite herself, but whatever expression of false humor that'd been on her face faded as Cersei shook her head.

"Never doubt how much I care for you. When I birthed you, you were as dear to me as he ever was, and I named you in accordance to how much I loved you, _beloved_." Davina knew her name meant _beloved child_ in some ancient dialect. "Come." Much like she had with Tommen and Myrcella earlier, Cersei began guiding her away from Bran's chambers.

"Did you ever name him?" Davina asked after a moment, out of pure curiosity. Her mother was silent for several moments before she nodded once, sadly.

"Gendry...it means highborn, I thought it rather fitting for a little prince," she murmured absently.

* * *

A week and a half worth of traveling found them nearing the Twins once again. Davina was overjoyed to finally be in the more temperate climate of the Riverlands, despite finding otherworldly beauty in the North, and Kol was content to be wherever she was. Surprisingly, Myrcella and Arya had formed a friendship of sorts, while Sansa watched the two with a look of annoyance on a regular basis.

Davina hadn't realized just how alike she and Myrcella were. She'd always believed her younger sister to be the prime example of a young princess, but in Arya's presence, Myrcella was a different person entirely. With increasing frequency, she even requested permission to ride with Davina on Rose instead of being sequestered in the coach with Tommen and Cersei. Likewise, Kol would place Arya on the back of his and they'd ride side by side, conversing like true friends all the while.

It was a heartwarming sight to see, and Davina swore to herself that she and Kol would find the perfect man for Arya to marry when the time undoubtedly came - one who wouldn't try to put a muzzle on her, but would allow her the freedom she craved and deserved. Myrcella would receive the same good treatment. Neither would be forced into unhappy, convenient marriages for political reasons.

Thanks to the girls' constant presence, however, she had yet to find a time to tell Kol of her nightmares, assuming he knew nothing of them already.

While she adored both Arya and Myrcella to death, as she was tackled into the tall grass for what felt like the millionth time that day, she was beginning to grow irritated. The two laughed as she picked herself up off the ground and dusted herself off, clearly finding their new favorite game of teaming up on her to be great fun. Kol himself chuckled before walking over and beginning to pick weeds from her long, tangled bronze waves.

"Why don't you go find something to eat, you two," he directed at their younger sisters. They'd stopped for the afternoon in a wide, open field. Their fathers were seated at the edge of the clearing, in the shade of a large tree, deep in discussion about something or another, while Lannister, Stark, and Baratheon bannermen surrounded them on all sides, though giving them some space.

Though disappointed, both Arya and Myrcella ran off to do as he suggested, and she released a deep breath once they'd left. "Who would've guessed they'd catch on like wildfire?" she asked rhetorically, and he laughed before kissing her temple.

"I, for one, am glad that they get on so well. I don't believe Arya has ever had a friend who hasn't been male in all her years...I'm glad that they've found each other...and I know that even if their friendship isn't amusing at times, you are as well," he said quietly, nudging her lightly in the side as he did so, causing her to roll her eyes and fight off a smile.

"If we have twins, you'd better be their primary target, or I swear to the Gods, both Old and New..." Davina trailed off before she could finish her sentence at the sight of Robert motioning to her from across the field. Kol and Davina shared a look before they made their way over to where their fathers sat.

"Your Grace," Davina addressed as she curtseyed before her father, and Kol bowed respectfully. Robert simply nodded to Ned in response, who handed her a small piece of folded up parchment. With a look of confusion that she shared with Kol, she began to unfold it.

"There was a rider in the night," Robert said in explanation as Davina's eyes scanned the words and Kol did the same over her shoulder. A sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she read it.

"Daenerys Targaryen has wed Khal Drogo," she said hesitantly before folding up the note and handing it to her father. This was worse than what she'd feared, and much more than she'd given Viserys credit for. Khal Drogo was in command of one hundred thousand men and was one of the most well renowned warriors on the other side of the Narrow Sea. With that many men at Viserys Targaryen's command, if they ever crossed the body of water separating them, he'd wreak havoc in Westeros.

"See, Ned, even my daughter has enough sense to be worried," Robert argued forcefully. Davina guessed they'd been arguing about the danger the Mad King's children could now impose on the Realm, and it seemed that Kol's father was discounting the possibility of war altogether. She didn't think she'd ever heard anything so stupid, especially not from the likes of someone as intelligent as Lord Stark.

"Not even a million Dothraki are a threat to the Realm," Ned shot back. "As long as they remain on their side of the Narrow Sea...they have no ships, Robert!"

"There are still those in the Seven Kingdoms who call me Usurper! The Targaryen boy crosses with a Dothraki horde at his back, the scum will join him!" Davina believed this to be the first time she ever truly agreed with her supposed father. It was definitely the first she'd ever seen him speak of something other than hunting, whoring, or drinking.

"He will not cross, and if by chance he does, we'll throw him back into the sea." In her periphery, she saw Kol's eyes narrow at his father's words, and in that moment, she knew he was on her side in this. Even he knew his father was being foolish and naive on the matter.

"There's a war coming," Robert promised, practically glaring at his lifelong friend before setting his eyes on Davina and Kol. "Should you ascend the throne after me, I pray you are ready. I don't know when, or whom we'll be fighting...but it's coming," he swore before taking a sip of ale from his flagon.

The mere thought of Viserys Targaryen crossing the Narrow Sea with a hundred thousand Dothraki warriors caused an anger to well within her that she'd never experienced before. The sense of entitlement his actions clearly told of made her very blood boil. He'd always believed the throne to be his by right, only, he'd lost it the day Jaime had driven his sword into his crazed father's back. He had no claim to the throne, and she wasn't about to allow him to steal it away from her.

"I promise you, Father, that I will allow no one, not Viserys Targaryen, not his sister or her new horse lord husband, nor any other usurper take my throne from me," she vowed powerfully, her voice unwavering and strong.

Much like he'd done that day in the throne room, Robert looked on her as if seeing her with new eyes yet again. If he would only pay attention for long enough, he'd recognize she carried and possessed all the qualities of a queen - a true queen - and had since birth. Joffrey might've been born his heir under tradition, but she was the one meant to sit the Iron Throne. It was her fate.

And she wouldn't relent until he realized that for himself.

* * *

"According the legend, countless rubies still lie at the bottom of Ruby Ford," Davina said as she and Kol walked along the banks of the Trident, the very river where Robert had slewn Rhaegar with a singular, deadly blow to his breastplate with his warhammer, knocking the precious red stones adorning it into the current. Prince Rhaegar's death had marked the true beginning of the end of the Targaryen rule.

In the weeks following what had become known as The Battle of the Trident, Kol's father - her own had been injured in the battle with Rhaegar - had led Houses Baratheon, Stark, Tully, Bolton, Forrester, Arryn, and Frey down into the Crownlands, while her grandfather, who'd remained neutral in the war up until that point, marched on King's Landing, promising King Aerys aid, only to sack the city once the Gate of the Gods had been opened for him.

It had been during the siege that Ser Gregor Clegane, better known as the Mountain, the brother of the Hound, had viciously raped Elia Martell before brutally murdering both she and her two young children. Jaime had also betrayed his own king by running him through with his sword.

"Do you think Arya, Myrcella, and Mycah will find any?" he asked with a wide smile. Their sisters and the butcher's boy whom they'd befriended had set off earlier that afternoon to scavenge for rubies. It'd been a few days since they'd received word of Daenerys marrying the Khal, and they were quickly approaching the Crownlands. Just two days before, they'd passed through the Twins, and thankfully, Lord Frey hadn't even looked her way once. If he had, Kol surely would've done much worse than simply warn him, as her mother, uncle, and the Hound had before.

"With Arya's tenacity and Myrcella's curiosity, dare I say it, they just might," she replied with a light laugh before sobering upon remembering she wished to ask him about her dreams."Kol...how do you usually feel after your visions?" she asked carefully.

"A bit clammy and lightheaded," he recalled before looking on her warily. "Why?" he asked.

"It's just...the week before I, uh, _became a woman_ ," she began awkwardly, "I began having these dre-actually, just this one dream. Flashes of ice and fire. Distant voices and noises I can't quite make out, no matter how hard I try," she said with a frustrated sigh. "And when I wake up, I'm covered in sweat and shivering."

"You think it's more than a dream," he surmised solemnly.

"It feels too real," she agreed. "And then, the morning we left Winterfell, my Uncle Tyrion mentioned something about the White Walkers, and it was like...like everything fell into place." She didn't know how else to describe the feeling that'd washed over her that morning. "What if I saw things from the War for the Dawn? Or..."

"Or, what if you saw things that have yet to happen," he finished for her, clearly having been following her train of thought all along. She was quiet for a moment before nodding, and he sighed as he looked out over the waters of the Trident. "Father always warned us Winter was coming," he said finally, and the mere thought of what he was suggesting had her shaking her head in denial, even though she had already considered it herself.

"Kol, I-"

"Show me," he asked quietly, meeting her eyes once more.

"What do you mean?"

"I want you to try and show me the things you've been seeing," he elaborated.

"I'm not even sure if I can, much less how," she argued back, hoping he would let the matter rest, but he simply led her over to the base of a nearby tree before sitting on his knees, dragging her down with him. Placing her hands on either side of his temples, he gripped her wrists gently, but firmly.

"Now...focus." Reluctantly, she allowed her eyes to slide closed, and she reached inside of herself, into the deepest parts of her soul where she kept her magic locked away for fear of hurting those she loved.

She relaxed her hold on it with a deep breath before allowing it to flow out to the tips of her fingers and into Kol. For a brief moment, she felt her magic meet a resistance she'd never experienced before, almost as if his gift was pushing back against her. In turn, her magic seemed to swirl around, searching for any weakness the opposing force might have, when all of the sudden, the two melded together harmoniously, stealing the breath from both of their lungs. Thunder without sound rocked through them both as their eyes rolled into the backs of their heads and the world around them disappeared.

* * *

 _Night. Winter. A woman with silver hair. Dragons. An icy looking humanoid. A flock of ravens screeching. Vials of liquid wildfire. "Burn them all!" Wildfire ripping through an underground tunnel. Pyromancers. A man drawing his sword. "Where's my sister?" A bloody hand. The Mad King falling. A blonde young man sitting the Iron Throne. A boy falling from a tower. The dead rising. A woman's scream._

The images flashed before her mind's eye a thousand times, growing faster and faster in rapid succession, until they vanished altogether, leaving her stumbling as she fought to remain upright. Beside her, with her hand in a death grip, was Kol, who, though shaky as well, helped steady her as she fought off the wave of vertigo that washed over her.

When she was finally sure she wouldn't be sick, she looked around, her brow creasing in confusion as she realized they were in the middle of what appeared to be a rocky desert, a singular brick structure towering over the seemingly desolate terrain.

"Where are we?" she asked quietly. Before Kol could reply, a scream - the same one she'd heard in her dreams for years - echoed from the tower, and a man she only just now noticed, took off at a run towards the stairs that led to it's entryway. As he reached them, he paused for a moment before looking over his shoulder, right at both she and Kol, though his eyes registered no recognition, almost as if he were looking straight through them.

"Father?" Kol asked quietly as the man - who she could now tell resembled a much younger version of Ned Stark - turned and began making his way up the steps. Almost unconsciously, Kol moved to follow, dragging her along with him in the process. She wasn't entirely certain what was going on, but she did have enough of her wits about her to know that whatever was happening was a result of she and Kol's magic melding together, and she wasn't too keen on finding out what would happen if they broke that connection.

They climbed the stairs behind him - Davina still clutching Kol's hand as if her life depended upon it - and followed as a young Ned Stark burst into the room at the top of the tower, pausing when he saw two Dornish servants tending to a weak, feeble-looking, bed-ridden young woman who couldn't have been much older than Davina.

 _"Lyanna,"_ Ned said as he laid the sword he'd been carrying against the foot of the bed before kneeling at her side. She was covered in her own blood, as was the cot she was lying on and the floor. The servants also had blood staining their dresses, and with a start, all of the pieces came together for Davina.

 _The Tower of Joy. Rhaegar. Lyanna. Dorne. The small bundle one of the servants - whom she now identified as a midwife - held in her arms._

Rhaegar and Lyanna had conceived a child together, a child that was half Targaryen, half Stark. A child that Ned himself had protected and raised his entire life, and as Ned leaned in at his sister's request, Davina could just make out her furtive, fearfully whispered plea to her older brother.

 _"If Robert finds out, he'll kill him. You know he will. You have to protect him...Promise me, Ned."_ She repeated it like a mantra as the babe was placed in Ned's arms, and as the vision began to blur, Davina clutched onto Kol's hand with both of hers as tightly as possible before it disappeared in a bright flash of light.

* * *

Nearly an hour later, after discussing their shared belief that Jon was the child in the vision, and after talking through what they each had made of Davina's dream, they slowly walked back into camp arm in arm, just as they had left.

"I still can't believe it," she murmured softly so that only Kol could hear her. "A dragon raised among wolves, all this time..." she trailed off before glancing up to him. "Will you tell him?" He seemed to ponder the thought for a moment before shaking his head.

"Perhaps when we journey up to the Wall after your coronation. I can't very well send a raven with the news. If your father catches wind of it, Jon's head will be on a spike adorning the Gate of the Gods...You know it to be true. My Aunt Lyanna knew as well," he replied solemnly, sounding wise beyond his years, every bit like the great king he'd undoubtedly become.

"You mean _our_ coronation," she corrected with a soft smile. "I've meant what I've said all these years - you will be my King, not a prince or a lord, but _king_ ," she insisted. "I intend on asking Robert to give you the title of _'prince'_ after our wedding, and when I'm made Queen, I will personally name you King," she promised. He went to argue, but she tightened her grip on his hand, stopping him. "I'm willing to negotiate on many things, but this is not one of them."

Truthfully, once she was crowned, she had no idea if Kol would immediately take on the title she had always envisioned him having by default or if she would have to personally proclaim him as such, but one way or another, he would rule by her side, as her equal in every way. She had never and would never accept any less. Thanks to Targaryens wedding brother and sister, she was perhaps one of the few princesses, maybe even the only one, in the past three centuries to marry below her station. She was unsure if Kol would even assume a title without it needing to be given by the King upon their union.

"Yes, Your Grace," he conceded teasingly, making her chuckle lightly before bumping him with her shoulder as they approached camp. The royal party had stopped at Crossroads Inn, a well-known waystop on the road south to the capital.

"Davina!" Both Davina and Kol turned to see Myrcella rushing towards them with a look of panic in her eyes that her older sister had never seen there before. Davina held her arms out as her sister practically crashed into them, out of breath and clearly extraordinarily distraught. After steadying Myrcella, Davina crouched down in front of her with a look of extreme worry plastered across her beautiful, darker features.

"What is it, little cub?" she asked with a frown. Myrcella spent a moment catching her breath before launching into a tale that made a pit form in Davina's gut.

Earlier that day, she'd been watching Arya and Mycah spar by the banks of the Trident. The three had taken a short break from their ruby hunting expedition and Kol's sister and the butcher's boy had decided to strike up a friendly fight, all in good fun. Myrcella had been more than content to just watch, politely refusing Arya's plea for her to partake in it, choosing to sit next to Arya's direwolf, Nymeria, instead. A few minutes into the mock duel, Joff had appeared with Sansa on his arm and drawn his sword - Lion's Tooth - and challenged Mycah to an unfair match.

Mycah had respectfully refused, but that had angered their brother. He'd begun slowly cutting into Mycah's cheek with Lion's Tooth when Arya had struck him in the back with her stick, allowing Mycah time to escape as Joff had rounded on her, swinging his sword wildly with every intention of harming or even killing her. Myrcella had screamed for Joffrey to stop, while Sansa had done the same, claiming they were "spoiling everything" as if Arya's life wasn't at risk. Myrcella seemed to have a very decided opinion on her future good sister from the sound of her tone, and it wasn't favorable.

Arya had fallen, and as Joff had brandished his sword in front of her, saying he was going to gut her - while calling her his favorite slanderous insult he frequently used with Davina - Nymeria had come to her human's aid, latching onto Joffrey's sword arm with her fangs. Arya had pulled Nymeria off of Joffrey before taking Lion's Tooth and flinging it into the Trident. She and Nymeria had immediately sprinted away, leaving Myrcella, Sansa, and a wounded Joffrey.

By the time she'd finished regaling her tale, there were angry tears in her eyes directed towards their brother, as well as a deep seated worry for her new found friend and her direwolf, who were still missing.

"Mother has sent Lannister men to find her and ordered them to bring Arya to her as soon as she is found to face judgement." Davina could tell that Myrcella feared for Arya's life. 'Cella was no fool - she knew just as well as Davina that Cersei would be out for blood after harm had come to Joffrey, and Arya would undoubtedly be the recipient of her wrath. "Please, Davina, you have to find her before they do. You have to protect her and Nymeria!" she begged. Her older sister shushed her before taking her face between her hands. Like Myrcella, Davina herself was worried for Arya's safety and fearful of what their mother would do to her after being found.

"I swear, I will find her, 'Cella. I won't allow Mother anywhere near her," she vowed before kissing her forehead and standing, immediately striding away from her sister and betrothed, catching the attention of a servant. "Ready my horse. I will return shortly." She left as the man bowed before her, too awestruck to do anything else, meeting Kol's eyes as he went to go saddle his own mount himself. He nodded solemnly, silently expressing his gratitude, before going on his way.

She made her way to her father's tent, entering without his permission, finding him sitting with a frustrated expression spread across his once handsome features. Jaime and Ser Barristan were shadowing him, guarding him stoically as he started on what she could only guess was his fifth or sixth cup of wine. He glanced up sluggishly before swiping a hand across his forehead and setting his wine-filled goblet down.

"I suppose you've come to beg for the girl's life," he muttered. She could tell he'd already been hounded by Cersei to dole out capital punishment to Arya once she was found, and the confrontation had drained him of the little energy he still possessed. He waved her off as she opened her mouth to speak, shaking his head. "I do not wish to have the girl's head. Children fight, it's in their nature. Your mother would have her beat within an inch of her life, but I won't allow it," he promised tiredly before gesturing for her to leave. "Now, off with-"

"If Your Grace would allow it, I very much would like to gather my own search party," she jumped to ask before he could finish his dismissal of her. He seemed to study her for a moment - something that was happening with increasing frequency as of late - before finally sighing.

"How many men would you require?" he asked in acquiescence, and her eyes immediately flicked to two of the most renowned swordsmen in the known world - two men she knew she could trust with her life. For appearance sake, it was a bodyguard for her and one for Kol, and while in reality they both could protect themselves, it couldn't hurt to have two extra sets of hands if a fight found them outnumbered. With the four of them, she suspected they could take on a group of fifty and make out with only minor injuries. Besides, even if they hadn't been present, she would've hand selected them anyways.

Jaime might've been Joff's true father, but he himself had confessed to caring more for her than he ever had for his eldest son. Even if it meant the wrath of her mother, he would do it because she asked him to. If it came down to she or Cersei, and Jaime had to make a choice, she honestly had no idea which side he'd choose...and she wasn't keen on finding out.

Ser Barristan was an honorable, trustworthy man who valued duty above all else. Unlike others such as Ser Meryn Trant, he allowed his conscience to guide him rather than the potential reward. It was the reason she would allow him to maintain his position once she was crowned.

"Take them, and take your wolf," he agreed, seemingly reading her mind. "With a small party and familiar faces, she is less likely to be scared off. You have three days. Gather whatever provisions you need, and be on your way before your mother finds you." She curtsied lowly as Jaime and Ser Barristan moved to obey their King. "You are to obey her as if she were me," Robert commanded, and both nodded their understanding before following her out of the tent.

"Ready your horses and meet me on the northern edge of camp. We will leave as soon as possible," she said, and Ser Barristan immediately left to do her bidding. Jaime, on the other hand, grasped her by the wrist and spun her around so that she was facing him.

"You and I both know she will not be pleased about this," he murmured lowly, glancing around for any sign of his twin, but ultimately finding none.

"Fuck Mother," she growled. "This girl is my family now, Jaime. If anything, Mother should understand that." She moved to turn away, but he pulled her back even more forceful than he had previously.

"You know she won't see it that way," he argued. "She'll view this as a betrayal, on both of our parts," he whispered heatedly, and she looked away begrudgingly, knowing he was right. She wouldn't view Davina finding Arya as one member of a family looking out for another, but as Davina siding with House Stark over House Lannister. Cersei would soon have to come to terms with Davina belonging to the House she despised most of all, and while she would always be devoted to her family, her loyalties after her wedding would reside with the House her children would belong to.

And if there was one name they would not bear, it was Lannister.

"As I said, _fuck_ Mother. I don't care what she thinks or what she'd want me to do...you on the other hand would prefer to do just that," she shot back icily, referring to their undeniable physical relationship, before yanking her wrist from his grasp. "Your personal opinions on the matter or not, you are to obey me as if I were King," she said with a strength that told of the greatness she possessed within her, a degree of queenly power that not even Cersei herself held. "And as King, I command you to ready your horse and meet me on the northern edge of camp. Do you understand?"

Jaime's expression hardened considerably at her words, and while she felt a small prick of pain at the coldness in his green eyes as he regarded her, she brushed the feeling away, returning his glare with equal ferocity. If she was in fact his, then she had definitely inherited his stubbornness, possibly twofold considering Cersei's own.

"Yes, Your Grace," he said flatly before turning and practically stalking away from her. She watched him go with narrowed eyes until he disappeared into the fray of tents, and only then did she begin making her way to the armory.

While she was neither expecting nor looking for a fight, it never hurt to be prepared.

* * *

Over an hour later, Davina, Kol, Shadow, Jaime, and Ser Barristan reached the spot Myrcella claimed Arya and Joffrey's confrontation had taken place. Kol immediately slid out of the saddle and knelt on the ground, searching for any sign of a scuffle, easily picking out footprints in the dirt.

"Your sister has a fantastic memory. Arya was definitely here," he commented before studying the tracks with the eyes of a skilled hunter. Davina squinted as she tried to see what he was seeing, shifting in her saddle in an attempt to achieve a better vantage point, but it was useless. She might be good a swinging a sword, but a tracker she was not. She made a mental note to have Kol teach her eventually.

Shadow sniffed around in the dirt, undoubtedly attempting to pick up his sister's scent.

"Which way do you believe she went?" she asked, steadying Rose as she shifted her weight restlessly. He studied them for another mere moment before glancing to the left. At that exact instant, Shadow looked in the same direction as Kol did. Davina glanced back and forth between the two, knowing they had both found their respective sisters' trails.

"West," he said without reservation. "I can only guess Nymeria is with her, or, at least was with her when they fled," he surmised before rising and meeting her eyes, looking to her as one would look to their King, though the special smile he gave her and her only graced his handsome features. She took Rose's reins in her hands once more before nodding.

"Then we go West."

* * *

"Are you sure it's not just hunting for it's next meal?" Jaime asked uncertainly as Shadow led them through the forest. They'd been riding West for hours, originally relying on Kol's tracking skills to lead the way, though once the Sun had set, they'd been following Shadow's lead as the dark grey wolf followed Arya and Nymeria's scents.

Davina couldn't help but roll her eyes in annoyance at Jaime's pessimism, which she was sure they could all do without. "Firstly, his name is _Shadow_ , not _it_ , and secondly, he's much smarter than you give him credit for, _Uncle._ " Beside her, she caught a glimpse of Ser Barristan smiling at her response in the light of the moon, causing her to grin smugly.

At that exact moment, Kol motioned for them to be quiet as Shadow paused, ears pricked, a low whine building in his throat. "Arya!" he called out, keeping his voice below a yell, but above a whisper. Davina held her breath as she waited for a reply, but it did not come. Undeterred, Kol tried again, dismounting his horse before quietly approaching where Shadow was staring so intently. "Arya!"

"Kol?" Davina immediately dismounted at the sound of Arya's voice, full of weariness, fear, and just a hint of relief. In the light of the moon, she could just make out her silhouette as she emerged from a thicket, covered in mud, grass, and leaves, but otherwise unscathed. It appeared she had been able to avoid any injury at Joffrey's hands, and Davina let out a sigh of relief as the two Starks embraced tightly. |

"Are you hurt?" he asked after pulling back slightly, looking over her, trying to ascertain that she was in fact perfectly alright, though a bit shaken. She shook her head vigorously, appearing to be on the verge of tears.

"No." She sniffled, unable to say anything else, and Kol drew her back to his chest again, soothing her as best he could. As he did so, Davina slowly approached them until she was beside Kol. Gently laying a hand on his shoulder, he looked up at her and nodded, silently understanding her unspoken request, before easing Arya out of his embrace and into Davina's. She went easily, shaking and repeating her apology in a mantra. Davina softly stroked her tangled dark hair and hushed her as she would Myrcella or Tommen after a nightmare.

"Arya, where's Nymeria?" she asked finally, knowing that the direwolf would've shown itself by now if it were still with her.

"I s-sent her away," she murmured tearfully. "I knew they would have her killed for what she did, and I couldn't..." she trailed off, unable to say more, and Davina nodded, tears forming in her own eyes as she drew Arya into her arms. The little wolf nuzzled into her soon to be good sister's embrace, and Davina held her tightly, fiercely, like a lioness or female wolf would one of their young.

"Shhhh, you did the right thing, Arya. Nymeria was protecting you from my brother. I wish I'd have had a friend like Nymeria growing up."

"But, you have Rose," Arya said in confusion upon pulling away. Davina smiled sadly before shaking her head.

"She is perhaps my closest ally," she agreed before looking over her shoulder at her Dornish mare. "But a kick from her is far more damaging than a bite from your wolf. Joff is smart enough not to come around me much when I'm with her."

"He's cruel to you?" she asked in confusion. "But you're his-"

"His sister? His blood?" Davina asked before shaking her head. "That doesn't matter much to my brother, Arya. Joffrey has always seen me as a threat...to what, I'm unsure. He has his claws in our mother. She'll do anything for him, defend him even when he's in the wrong. Myrcella, Tommen, and myself have never been shown such devotion. So, I've taken it upon myself to watch over and protect them... as I will you," she promised, stroking Arya's tear stained, muddied cheek gently.

"I won't allow anyone to hurt you, do you understand me?" she asked. "No one will lay a hand on you...not even the Queen herself." The tears that sprung to Arya's eyes at Davina's vow nearly broke her heart, and as the younger girl threw her arms around her neck and thanked her profusely, Davina's eyes met Jaime's for a moment, and upon seeing the unreadable expression in his green eyes, looked away before swallowing thickly.

"We need to make camp for the night and start a fire," she announced as Arya trembled in her arms. "She's freezing." She and Kol's eyes met and he nodded once in agreement before glancing to the two Kingsguards.

"Ser Jaime and I will fetch some wood for the fire." Jaime looked like he was about to say something smart, but Davina shot him a glare that had him rolling his eyes and moving to do as he was bid.

* * *

"Davina?" Arya asked as she stared into the flames of the fire her brother had started. Davina was seated behind her, having just put a decent amount of time and effort into detangling the girl's tangled, knotted hair and had set to work on a simple plait in order for it to stay at least somewhat orderly while she slept.

"Yes, little wolf?" she asked as she begun the first few strands of the braid, practically feeling the broad smile spread across Arya's face at the pet name she'd bestowed upon her. Kol was seated just to her right on a fallen log while Jaime and Ser Barristan were situated in much the same way on the other side of the fire.

"Would you tell me a story?" she asked shyly, so unlike her usual boisterous, independent, and confident self that it pulled on Davina's heart strings a bit. Much like with Kol, Davina had found herself helplessly devoted to his youngest sister who had all too easily wormed her way into her heart, and found denying her even the smallest, most insignificant of things nearly impossible.

"What kind of story?" she questioned, wracking her brain for any of the many stories she'd often told Myrcella during sleepless nights. Since their chambers were so close in proximity to one another, Davina had requested Myrcella's handmaidens come to her first if Myrcella experienced any nightmares or had trouble sleeping during the night rather than traverse to the other side of the Red Keep to wake their mother.

Arya merely shrugged in response, and Davina took it as a sign that any story would suffice, no matter it's origin, topic, or realism. With a smile, Davina realized she knew the perfect one.

"The Dothraki believe the Moon is a goddess, and the true wife of the Sun. Other cultures believe the opposite - that the Sun is the goddess and bound eternally to her lover the Moon, and their children are the innumerable stars."

"What do you believe?" Arya asked, causing Davina to grin as she began adding more strands to her braid. Across the fire, she noticed Ser Barristan smile softly at the girl's curiosity as he sharpened his blade absently.

"I believe the Sun is the goddess and the Moon is her husband, destined to chase each other across the sky as only star crossed lovers could, meeting sparingly before they are forced apart once more." Thanks to Grand Maester Pycelle, she knew for a fact the Sun and Moon were not gods, simply celestial bodies provided by the Seven for the care of their servants, but nonetheless, it was entertaining to construct her own origin story for the two. She paused for a moment, taking Arya's silence as a positive sign before continuing on.

"Before remembering, the Sun was worshipped as a god for her beauty and the warmth she brought to mankind. The people of the known world loved and admired her, yet, she felt alone. No other being shared the sky with her, and while the praise she received did not go unnoticed, it did not prevent her from becoming lonely. Every morning, she woke and traveled across the sky, searching for a friend or confidant to share both her joy and sorrow with, and every night, she went to sleep having been unsuccessful in her quest."

"Likewise, at dusk the Moon rose and sought for his own companion, but found no other being in the darkness. One night, however, he heard tales of a beautiful, magnificent being that brought joy and light to the world he held dominion over, but rarely truly saw. He listened as the people showered her with praise, and the more he heard, the more he began to believe he had once witnessed a being such as her long ago. He set out to find her - to experience her splendor for himself and to quell the ever consuming loneliness within him - but she always seemed just out of his reach."

"The Moon continued to chase her across the sky as she remained unaware, trying to fill the emptiness clawing at her very soul by doing good for the people of the world, and as he grew closer and closer to her, he rejoiced, for the being he'd grown to love so fervently was almost within his reach, at last. Finally, one day, he caught her, standing between she and the world, bathing in the glory of her complete light and warmth, stealing it from those below them. Likewise, she was in awe of how he complimented her - reflecting her stunning, blinding light back at her in the form of a gentle, radiant glow." Davina smiled as she saw the enraptured, captivated smile on Arya's still innocent features. She prayed it would be quite a while before she lost said innocence. Myrcella's was already being robbed from her at the tender age of ten, but such was the way of their station.

"As with all good things, the moon eventually moved from the Sun's path, disappearing from her view, longing to be reunited with her once more. This became their destiny - to find and lose each other in harmonious cycles that leave the world in awe every time they are reunited."

"Like you and my brother," Arya said with a bittersweet smile that made Davina grin at the girl's intelligence.

"Yes, Arya," she confirmed as she tied off the young girl's braid with a leather band before smoothing back the flyaways. "Much like Kol and I," she murmured, meeting his brown eyes that were looking upon her so lovingly with a softness she only showed to a few others. "Whenever we are apart, we always seem to find our way back to each other."

"Even if it takes a few years," he threw in with a smile that had her rolling her eyes and laughing even as she urged Arya to her cot so that she might get some sleep. Covering her over with Kol's fur cloak, she smiled down at the young girl sweetly before tucking a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Sleep well, little wolf." As Arya easily drifted off to sleep, dreaming of Suns and Moons, Davina stood and made her way over to Kol, placing herself on the ground between his knees in front of the fire.

He drew her back against his chest and laid his chin atop her head. As one, they sighed in contentment and settled into their embrace, staring into the flames as they relished in their closeness.

"You know," Kol said eventually, making Davina turn her head so she could look up into his eyes. "Dothraki Khals sometimes refer to their true wife, their Khaleesi, _jalan atthirari anni..._ moon of my life." She smiled and nodded, having known this also. Dothraki Khals, the equivalent of Kings of their khalasar, or tribe, sometimes referred to their wives, called Khaleesi, or Queen, as their penultimate god, the Sun, would his wife, the Moon.

"And a Khaleesi would in turn refer to her husband as _vēzos qēlossās ñuho,"_ she replied softly, her hand coming up to caress his cheek. "My sun and stars." He smiled before relaxing, and she settled back against his chest once more, listening to the sound of his breath and heart beat as it calmed her.

" _Vēzos qēlossās ñuho,"_ he whispered in her ear softly, and she smiled lazily. She intertwined their hands and kissed the back of his large one.

 _"Jalan atthirari anni,"_ she replied quietly, smiling minutely as he kissed the crown of her head in response.

All this talk of the Dothraki led her back to the revelation of Daenerys wedding the most powerful Khal in the East, and soon, if the gods smiled upon the two, they'd be with child - a child that would threaten everything Davina held dear. If they had any hope of defending against a Dothraki invasion, she and Kol would need an heir the people would stand behind, or at least, an heir that secured their reign.

She prayed to the Seven that night, long after Kol had fallen asleep on his makeshift cot as he held her to him, that they would be wed shortly after arriving in King's Landing and she'd be with child soon afterwards.

* * *

The next night, Davina quietly sidled back into the Inn after having taken preemptive measures with both Lady and Shadow by setting them free so that they might escape the wrath of her parents. Just a few minutes prior, she'd released Lady from her chains and sent her off with Shadow, telling him to go find Nymeria. Almost as if the drak grey direwolf had understood her perfectly, he'd personally seen to driving off his sister, who'd originally lingered in reluctance, no doubt yearning for Sansa. After he'd driven her into the woods, he'd glanced back to her for a moment, as if he'd been thanking her, before following suit and disappearing into the forest as well.

Thanks to his help, Davina had been able to set Lady free and on her way before any of her mother's men could realize what had happened, and guessing from their lack of reaction, none of them had realized they had lost the direwolf. She couldn't help the smirk that graced her lips at the thought of her mother's face when her deception was discovered.

Kol shot her a questioning glance as she slid into place beside him fluidly, taking his hand and intertwining their fingers together. He was well aware that she'd been up to something, he just didn't know what. She shook her head slightly before squeezing his hand once, silently asking him to trust her. He acquiesced with a minute, barely detectable nod just as Ned burst into the room, shoving men aside as he made his way towards Arya.

When she, Kol, Arya, Jaime, and Ser Barristan had arrived back at the Inn just shy of an hour before, they'd been brought in front of her parents straight away, and while Cersei had glared at Kol's younger sister for the better part of that time, Davina and Kol had placed themselves between Arya and Cersei, shielding the young wolf from her view. Thankfully, Robert refused to pass an judgement or hear any of Joffrey's falsehoods without Ned, who'd been leading his own search party a few miles south of camp.

Arya, now trembling in fear again, grasped onto her father's forearms as he knelt down beside her, repeating her apology over and over, just as she had with both Davina and Kol the night before.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"No."

"It's alright," he said as he drew her against his chest momentarily before fixing Robert with a hard look that not many would dare show their King. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded angrily. "Why was my daughter not brought to me at once?" Davina couldn't deny that, while she found his lack of worry over the Targaryens troubling and quite frankly, foolish, she couldn't deny that he was the type of father she'd always yearned for but had never been lucky enough to receive. If nothing else, she hoped Kol took after him in that respect. She didn't wish for their children to grow as she had.

"How dare you speak to your King in that manner?" Her mother questioned, only to be immediately reprimanded by her father.

"Quiet, woman!" he bellowed, and even though Davina had already received several nasty glares from Cersei since she returned with Arya, she couldn't help but feel a bit of righteous anger on her mother's behalf rise up within her. "Sorry, Ned," he said, sounding every bit as exhausted as he had been the day he'd granted her permission to mount a search party of her own. "Never meant to frighten the girl...but we need to get this business done quickly."

She felt Kol tense at her father's words, and she tightened her grip on his hand in response. The slight movement caught her mother's attention, and while she could feel her eyes boring into her, she refused to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her.

"Your girl and that butcher's boy attacked my son," she claimed, and even if Davina hadn't already been told the truth by Myrcella, she wouldn't have believed it for a moment. "That animal of her's nearly tore his arm off."

"That's not true!" Arya exclaimed, and nearly every eye in the room went to her - Baratheon, Lannister, Stark, and bannermen alike. "She just...bit him a little." Davina released a breath as Arya clearly remembered what she'd told her about Joffrey and his volatile mood swings, as well as Cersei's favoritism. If she'd told the truth and placed the blame firmly on Joff's shoulders, she'd have made a grave mistake that her mother would've capitalized on. "He was hurting Mycah."

"Joff told us what happened. You and that boy beat him with clubs while you set your wolf on him," Cersei accused, and as her eyes returned to Davina's, her daughter didn't hesitate to send a disbelieving look her way. Davina could tell Cersei knew Joffrey was lying, but had chosen to go along with his falsehoods because he was her precious firstborn son who could do no wrong.

"That is not what happened!" Arya screamed.

"Yes it is!" Joffrey argued. "They all attacked me and she threw my sword in the river." Davina had to struggle to hold back a laugh at her brother's tone. He sounded as if he were a child who'd had his favorite toy taken away. Not for the first time, Davina realized that this was what Cersei had created. All of her coddling in an attempt to make up for Robert's absence in Joff's childhood had turned him into a violent, narcissistic, petulant child who would do anything to get his own way.

"Liar!" Arya yelled, and Davina had to squeeze Kol's hand to keep both of them from lunging forward and grabbing her before she could do something stupid, like attack Joffrey physically.

"Shut up!" her younger brother shot back.

"Enough!" Robert bellowed, easily ending their argument. "He tells me one thing, she tells me another...seven hells, what am I to make of this?" He asked rhetorically with a sigh. "Where's your other daughter, Ned?"

"In bed asleep."

"She's not," Cersei said, and all at once, Davina realized her mother's plan. She was going to manipulate Sansa into betraying her own blood by holding she and Joff's betrothal over her as an executioner held his blade. Cersei knew better than to use Myrcella's testimony, which would favor the truth instead of Joff's lies, so she went after the one person she could easily bend to her will. "Sansa, come here darling."

As Sansa made her way before the King, Queen, and Prince, escorted by a Kingsguard, Davina felt Kol tense beside her, and her other hand came up to grip his wrist tightly so that she might have some means of controlling him if the need arose. He and Arya were very much alike in that regard - both wild at heart and morally sound.

"Now, child...tell me what happened," Robert ordered after Sansa stopped before him. "Tell it all and tell it true. It's a great crime to lie to a king." The redhead looked to Ned uncertainly before her blue Tully eyes turned to Joffrey, and all hopes of the truth being revealed vanished in that instant.

"I don't know. I don't remember. Everything happened so fast...I didn't see." While it wasn't the truth, it definitely wasn't whatever lie her mother was hoping for based on her reaction, but Arya was quick to call her on her falsehood regardless.

"Liar!" Arya exclaimed, grasping the back of Sansa's cloak and pulling her hair. "Liar, liar, liar!" It took Ned, Kol, and Davina to separate the two, and as Arya finally calmed down, Davina noticed the acidic glint in her mother's Lannister eyes - scarily similar to what she often saw in Joff's - as well as the smirk that graced her lips.

"She's as wild as that animal of her's. I want her punished." Davina felt Kol's demeanor change completely at her mother's words, and she dug her nails into his wrist to keep him in place.

"What would you have me do? Whip her through the streets?" Robert asked angrily. "Damn it! Children fight, it's over."

"Joffrey will bear these scars for the rest of his life," Cersei shot back, and as Robert's eyes went to her brother, Davina couldn't help but smile slightly at the disgust that shone in his ice-blue eyes towards his supposed eldest son.

"You let that little girl disarm you?" he asked in disbelief. Joffrey's previously smug demeanor vanished as failure crept in and took root within him. His shoulders slumped and he looked away from their father in shame. Davina took a moment to savor the look on his face. It wasn't very often that anyone dared tell Joffrey just how much of a disappointment or a prick he truly was.

Joffrey might bear a striking resemblance to Jaime that was growing exponentially by the day, but he was nothing at all like him. He possessed none of his good nature, wit, or physical skill as he should have. Neither had Tommen, who was ungainly with nearly everything and as shy as a church mouse. Out of the four of them, Myrcella and herself were the most like Jaime, though Cersei had prevented 'Cella from following in Davina and Jaime's footsteps in skill.

All in all, the most well rounded of their litter were the ones who, in the minds of most, mattered the least. The gods seemed to favor irony in their case.

"Ned, see to it that your daughter's disciplined. I'll do the same with my son," he said in dismissal before standing ,with every intent on the matter being settled, when Cersei stopped him.

"And what of the direwolf?" She questioned. "What of the beast that savaged your son?" Davina had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at this. Her mother only considered Joffrey as Robert's when it was convenient for her,

"I'd forgot the damned wolf," he grumbled wearily before turning to a man clad in Lannister colors.

"We found no trace of the direwolf, Your Grace," he informed his King. Robert seemed to accept this and nodded, and Davina let out a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. She'd been hoping that Nymeria would prove to be as clever as her human counterpart and avoid capture, and it'd appeared that the young female direwolf had in fact alluded those hunting her.

"No? So be it."

"We have another wolf," her mother claimed, and Robert froze for a moment, perhaps weighing his options, before nodding once in solemn agreement.

"As you will." He moved to pass by Kol's father, but Ned stopped him.

"You can't mean it."

"A direwolf's no pet," Robert responded in frustration. "Get her a dog, she'll be happier for it," he said in dismissal before making for the door.

"He doesn't mean Lady, does he?" Sansa asked, sounding equal parts shocked and emotional, and Davina guessed her naive future good sister hadn't considered this as a possible outcome. Thankfully, Davina had seen this as very likely avenue and had taken precautionary measures to ensure all of the Stark direwolves lived to see the morrow. "No, no, not Lady. Lady didn't bite anyone, she's good!" Sansa exclaimed angrily, and even despite knowing Lady would not greet death that night, the redhead's plea still broke her heart.

"Lady wasn't there!" Arya exclaimed. "You leave her alone!" she demanded.

Sansa's hand shot out and grasped her father's arm as Davina's tightened it's grip on Kol's hand with just the right amount of pressure so that he met her eyes. "Stop them, don't let them do it! Please, please, it wasn't Lady!"

"Trust me," she whispered. "Lady, Nymeria, and Shadow are all safe."

"Is this your command?" Ned demanded, seemingly forgetting he was speaking to his king for a moment as Robert turned to meet his eyes. "Your Grace?" Their gazes held for several moments until it was broken as Davina's father wordlessly turned away and exited the Inn, slamming the door on his way out.

Without missing a beat, her mother turned to the same Lannister guard who'd informed Robert of Nymeria's absence. "Where is the beast?"

"Chained up outside, Your Grace." Her mother nodded, but before she could give Ser Ilyn Payne, the King's Justice who'd had his tongue cut out by the Mad King, the order, Davina stepped forward, releasing Kol's hand in the process.

"She's not," she said, openly mocking the words Cersei had uttered only minutes before in a way that everyone knew it. Normally she wouldn't dare be so disrespectful, but she'd just about had it with her mother and little brother that night, so in her mind, whatever mud she threw in their faces was well deserved.

"What do you mean?" Cersei asked, though Davina could tell by her tone that she already knew what Davina had done - and was none too pleased with her eldest child.

"Just a few minutes ago, while your ever vigilant, alert guards were drinking themselves into a stupor, I unchained Lady and sent her off with Shadow to find Nymeria." She held her chin high and shot her a victorious smirk as she heard both girls' breaths catch behind her. Joffrey's expression was practically murderous as he looked upon her, but she refused to let him frighten her. Instead, she smiled his way before turning her eyes to the Lannister guard. "If any of your men manage to bring back one of their pelts, I'll have your head on a spike...do you understand?"

"I mean no disrespect, Princess, but I take orders from-"

"I very well may be your next Queen!" she growled, a fire igniting in her emerald eyes that would've made any man cower in fear, and the man looked away from her intense gaze in silent acquiescence. "You will do as I command, or I will have you cropped at the neck!"

Without another word, she turned, only to be enveloped in a stifling hug facilitated by both Stark girls. As they both hurriedly thanked her over and over, she welcomed their embrace, meeting Kol's eyes over Arya's shoulder, returning the smile she saw there with one of her own as he looked on her with an expression that made her feel invincible. He mouthed his own thanks as well as pledging his love, and she returned the sentiment before withdrawing from his sisters' embrace.

"I meant what I said last night, Arya," she said quietly, smoothing back her hair. "You are my family now...both of you." She looked to Sansa with a smile and took her hand, receiving a watery one in return from her. "No harm will ever come to either of you if I can help it." Both girls nodded with teary, grateful eyes as Davina smiled softly. "Now," she cleared her throat, dispelling the lump there before meeting their eyes again. "I believe it is quite past all of our bedtimes, wouldn't you agree?"

They both nodded, making Davina chuckle lightly before she glanced up to Kol, who read her mind all too easily. He approached the three, and as Davina released Sansa and Arya's hands and stepped to meet him, he slid his arm around her waist possessively - a sight that must've enraged her mother, but Davina couldn't care less. She was all smiles as Kol began to lead her out of the Inn, followed closely by his sisters, receiving a gracious nod of thanks from Ned as she passed him.

* * *

They hadn't gone far - only about twenty paces outside the Inn - when Kol asked Sansa and Arya to give he and Davina a moment alone. The two sisters shared a look with barely concealed smiles before nodding. Kol turned and led her around a corner, not at all far from his sisters, and that was understandable. Davina herself didn't trust her brother not to retaliate after being denied his 'justice', though if that were the case, she hoped he'd act against her and not Sansa or Arya, especially considering that Sansa would be his wife in a few short years.

"You are incredible," he murmured in amazement, making her blush a look away.

"I only did what any decent person in my position would do," she claimed with a laugh, but he shook his head in disagreement.

"No, no, you defied the Queen, and you did it with a smirk and your head held high. Anyone else would've been severely punished, but Cersei couldn't and wouldn't touch you because you are her daughter. You outsmarted her." He brushed a strand of hair that'd escaped her braid back behind her ear before caressing her cheek.

"You are a woman any man would be a fool not to want... a true Queen any King worth his own merit would kill for." He seemed to think on his words for a few moments before he met her eyes. "I would die for you...you must know that." She silenced him with a hand on his cheek.

"And I would do the same for you," she replied honestly before shaking her head and releasing a deep breath. "But it'll never come to that. I promise. We'll live to be old and grey surrounded by our children and our children's children." He kissed her forehead gently, reverently, at her words before reluctantly stepping away.

Silently understanding he was going to escort Sansa and Arya back to their tent, which was on the other side of camp from her own, she released him and watched as he turned and disappeared around the corner. Taking a deep breath, she began making her way back towards her own tent, nodding as soldiers bowed as she passed, offering more respect than either of her parents ever had by acknowledging their presence.

She hadn't gotten far when she was grabbed from behind and dragged around a corner before being slammed against a stone wall of the Inn, driving the breath from her lungs. She struggled against her assailant, balling her fist and moving to drive it into his side, as Jaime had taught her, when her attacker easily caught her wrist and pinned her hands above her head - a feat made substantially easier thanks to her lungs still clawing for air.

She looked into the murderous, cool, calculating, green eyes that were so much like her own, yet vastly different, and felt a wave of fear wash over her as she fought against his grasp, but his hold remained firm. He chuckled at her struggling, a sound that sent a chill through her, before pressing a blade to her throat.

"Joff," she pleaded shakily, breathlessly, as she felt the cool metal meet her skin. "Joffrey, please don't." She swallowed thickly, pressing back against the wall in a vain attempt to distance herself from her younger brother and the crazed look in his eyes.

"Why not, sweet sister? It's only fair - you stole my justice from me, so I'll take your life in place of that filthy mutts!" He pressed down harder, and she felt the blade begin to cut into the skin of her neck. She whimpered as she felt blood begin to trickle from the wound he was opening, but didn't dare fight back, not until she saw the perfect opportunity. "When I am King, I'll have that dog hunted down and brought before me. And I shall watch as Ser Ilyn takes you head and sows it onto that bitch's body!"

She gritted her teeth and waited until he was distracted by his own sick, twisted fantasy to strike. Bringing her knee up, she struck him squarely between the legs, causing him to double over and relax his grip on her wrists as well as the knife. Gripping his own wrist, she spun, much like she did when performing the move she'd perfected with Jaime, before elbowing him in the throat, sending him to his knees.

She sprinted away from him without wasting a moment, narrowly avoiding the knife as he blindly swung it in her direction while shouting awful, profanities at her. Rounding the corner, she didn't let up, even as she ran through a group of soldiers - who all bowed before her out of respect - frantically searching for someone to save her from Joffrey's wrath. Behind her, she could hear that he'd recovered from her blow and was on her tail, still screaming horrid things directed at her.

Finally, just as she was beginning to grow winded, she spotted Jaime as he was returning from retrieving the group of Lannister soldiers her mother had sent after Arya and Nymeria. No sooner had she picked him out in the distance did she see her mother approach him, and in that instant she knew if anyone would protect her from her brother, it'd be his - possibly their - parents.

She crashed into Jaime a mere moment after he'd noticed her approaching them, and as he helped steady her, she struggled to catch her breath. "Joff," she said breathlessly as her hand came up and touched the still sticky blood that'd run it's course down her neck. The wound wasn't life threatening, but it stung nonetheless. The shock on her mother's face was clear as she stepped forward and carefully examined the wound. As she did so, Davina noticed Joffrey approaching them calmly, as if he hadn't been about to slit her throat - it was a toss up, really, she wouldn't have put it past him - and she strunk back against Jaime unconsciously.

"Joff tried to kill me." Her brother's cruelty certainly wasn't a new development, but this marked the first time he'd ever come at her with a lethal weapon, and she feared it certainly wouldn't be the last.

"Oh, don't be overdramatic, Davina," he scolded pompously with a smirk, as if her reaction wasn't warranted. "We were just having some fun." Her eyebrows rose incredulously at his response.

"You call holding a knife to my throat and threatening to crop me at the neck and sow my head onto one of the bodies of the Stark direwolves fun?" she questioned in disgust. She stepped away from Jaime, no longer fearful of her younger brother, but feeling rather vengeful. Before she could reply with her own threat, Cersei quickly inserted herself between her two eldest children - whether it was to protect Joffrey from Davina, the other way around, or both, Davina was unsure.

"I'm sure he was merely joking-" Cersei began, and before she could finish, Davina recoiled from her mother's touch.

"You're defending him?" she asked with raised brows. When her mother didn't answer one way or another, she pulled her hair away from her neck and showed her the wound Joffrey had given her. "What more would it take for you to be on my side? For him to actually kill me?" Joffrey smirked at her words, knowing very well that Cersei did favor him over her and even if he did kill her, she might still be on his side.

The sight of his smug grin and their mother's favoritism infuriated her, causing her to square her shoulders and hold her chin high. "Joff, if you ever even touch me again, I swear on the Seven, on my throne, I will kill you myself," she growled lowly, and though there was a hint of fear in her brother's eyes, he tried his best to emulate her display of strength.

"Not if I kill you first," he shot back, pushing Cersei aside as the siblings openly glared into the other's eyes murderously. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Davina's lips finally curled up in a smirk.

"We'll see, little brother." She paused as she sensed something was very, very wrong. Her gaze swung to the underbrush a good fifty paces away, and she turned away from Joffrey with a narrowed gaze as she tried to reconcile the wriggling in her gut with her sight. "Do you know what the Braavosi say to the god of death?" she asked carefully, her eyes never straying from the woods as she took a slow, minute step closer so that he was within arm's reach.

"Why would I care?"

"Wrong answer, little brother." By now, Jaime was aware that something was wrong and was slowly reaching for Cersei as his eyes turned to the woods as well. "They say, not today." No sooner had the words left her tongue than did she push Joffrey out of the way just as an arrow sliced between them. A second later the sound of another bolt sluicing through the air reached her ears, and in the next moment, it'd lodged itself deep in her shoulder.

As she released a scream, Jaime grabbed her and pulled her behind a wooden cart while Cersei had managed to grab Joff and find shelter behind a nearly identical cart just a few paces away from them.

After setting her on the ground, Jaime drew back in order to examine her shoulder. "You have to go after him," she commanded, but he acted as if he hadn't heard her. He eased down the sleeve of her dress in order to see the wound better, frowning when he did. With gritted teeth, she asked him how bad the wound was.

"You'll live," he said with certainty, though his expression was grave. "I'm going to need to pull it out, though."

"Do it," she ordered, fighting off a yelp as even the slightest movements sent little electric shocks of pain out from the wound.

"There will be pain," he warned. If she weren't in pain already, she might've rolled her eyes at him.

"I'll scream."

"Quite a bit of it...are you sure you wouldn't want-" Before he could offer her milk of the poppy, she shook her head vehemently.

"I'll scream loudly," she said in pained exasperation, steeling herself as Jaime gripped the shaft of the bolt in one hand and laid the other against her skin. As he moved to pull it out, her hand shot up and gripped his wrist to use as an anchor. Vacantly, she recalled she'd done much the same when she'd first laid eyes on him in the wake of her birth. She imagined the cry that emanated from her throat as Jaime pulled the bolt from her shoulder mirrored her mother's as she brought her into the world.

He then moved to rip part of his white cloak to use as a makeshift bandage, but she caught his arm, preventing him from doing so. "You have to go!"

"I'm not leaving you."

"Jaime, whoever it was that just attacked us, attacked both Joffrey and I...their crime is punishable by death, and I want their head." When he seemingly ignored her, moving to rip his cloak instead of going after her would be murderer as she'd asked, she realized that she would have to do it herself. As soon as he was completely distracted, she shoved him as hard as she possibly could with her right hand - she doubted she could throw a mouse off balance with her left because of her shoulder - sending him crashing to the ground, before rushing to an unmanned horse, ignoring both he and her mother's pleas for her to stop as she expertly swung onto it's back, even with a bad shoulder.

Grimacing as she seated herself, she kicked the animal's flanks hard, sending it into an uneven gallop as she took off in pursuit of her attacker. Just before Jaime had grabbed her, she could've sworn she'd seen a hooded figure take off into the dense foliage of the surrounding forest, headed North towards the Trident. As she ducked under a branch upon entering the woods, she reached down and unsheathed the dagger she always wore beneath her skirts, strapped to her thigh.

Though the Sun had set hours ago, the moonlight streaming through the branches offered her more than enough light to pick out her attacker as he fled towards the river on foot, and she steered her mount in his direction as he broke through the dense underbrush and into a small clearing.

Urging her still confused, uncertain steed over a large fall tree - much less gracefully than Rose would've executed the jump - she bore down on the hooded figure, waiting until the last possible moment before launching herself out of the saddle and into the air. She crashed into the man's back, sending them both sprawling onto the ground.

Holding back the cry of agony that bubbled up in her throat as she landed on her bad shoulder, she rolled several times before hurriedly righting herself just as her opponent pushed himself to his feet, his hood slipping back in the process to reveal a middle aged man with olive skin and dark hair. Immediately, she could identify him as being from one of the Free Cities in Essos, and from the intelligence she'd received while working for Varys, she guessed he hailed from the city of Pentos, where it was rumored the Targaryen siblings remained under the protection of a prominent magister.

If this had been an attempt by Viserys or his Essosi supporters to assassinate either one or both of Robert's likely heirs, it had almost succeeded. If she hadn't felt something was wrong when she had, she or Joffrey both could've been brought down with an arrow, as if they were stags being hunted. A stag, Joffrey was not, and neither was she, even if Robert was in fact her true father. She was a lioness, and she was not about to let something as measly as a bolt from a Pentoshi slave put her down.

The man moved first, lunging in her direction, but she simply spun out of the way fluidly, not allowing him to catch her with his now raised knife. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of hoofsteps quickly approaching, probably sent by her mother and led by Jaime to find her.

 _"Vestan, gōntan Visērȳs Targārien jikagon ao,"_ she asked in Valyrian, and the slave appeared shocked that she could articulate his native tongue so well, or, at least she hoped he understood her. She'd learned High Valyrian because she'd believed it to be a valuable skill to possess - as had Kol after learning she was teaching it to herself - in case she ever dealt with any of the Free Cities, but if she recalled correctly, in Pentos they spoke a different dialect of Valyrian called _Bastard Valyrian_. She hoped the two dialects were similar enough that he understood her.

When he didn't answer her immediately, she attempted again, to which he responded to with a sneer and murmured curse before launching himself at her again, and like before, she easily avoided his advanced, using his own weight against him and sending him to the ground just as Jaime broke through the trees followed by several Lannister soldiers, and, surprisingly, her mother seated astride Rose.

She'd heard from Jaime that her independence and love of most things unladylike reminded him greatly of Cersei as a girl, and while she'd believed him, seeing her mother riding her own Dornish mare as easily as she herself was capable of made her recognize, perhaps for the first time, how truly similar they were.

Not wasting a moment, she'd grasped the man by the hood of his cloak, forcing him to kneel as she pressed her dagger to his throat. As her mother ordered her soldiers to seize him, she dismounted and rushed to her, immediately moving to inspect her wound as Davina passed the Pentoshi slave off to the Lannister men.

She knew Jaime would've been right there next to Cersei if it wouldn't draw suspicions, but for the sake of appearances, he stood and watched as the man was dragged away. Davina flinched as Cersei lightly touched the wound - which was now gushing blood thanks to her accelerated heart rate.

"I'm fine," she whispered exasperatedly, equal parts touched and annoyed by her mother's sudden concern. Cersei looked like she was about to say something more when the man suddenly began shouting in his native language.

 _"Perzys ānogār! Perzys ānogār! Perzys ānogār!"_ Davina felt her body stiffen as her fears were seemingly confirmed. He was shouting the words 'fire and blood'... the Targaryen words.

* * *

Davina paced back and forth, agitatedly, wincing in pain whenever her movements tore at the sutures that held her wound closed. It was a temporary fix - they'd be in the capital within a few days time and she'd be taken to Grand Maester Pycelle straight away in order to properly close the wound. The Inn's maester had done the best he could, but he was limited in his supplies and knowledge. She might not like the older man, but his medicinal prowess was undeniable and unparalleled in the Seven Kingdoms. She just had to pray to the Seven that the wound wouldn't become infected. If the rot set in, there would be no saving her.

"What will the King do to him?" she asked, never taking her eyes off the man that'd tried to take both she and Joffrey's lives, no doubt at Viserys Targaryen's command. Many of the men that'd found them - he on the ground and she with a blade pressed to his throat - weren't educated or versed in High Valyrian, but she was, and he'd continually screamed the Targaryen words in the nearly dead language as he'd been dragged away.

"He'll more than likely remain a prisoner until we reach King's Landing, and then he'll be executed publicly. His head will decorate a spike on the city gates until it wastes away to nothing," Jaime replied, watching her as she glared at her would be murderer.

"Viserys Targayen still wants Joff and I dead. He won't give up. He might be spineless, but he's still a dragon."

"He's scared of you," Jaime reasoned, causing her to pause and turn so that their identical green eyes met. "The archer seized the opportunity of seeing you and Joffrey together to shoot in your general direction, hoping to strike one of you - it mattered not which of you he put a bolt through. When you pushed Joffrey out of the way and saved him, the Targaryen boy's assassin targeted you. You are the true threat, not Joffrey, and he's smart enough to realize that. As long as you are alive, he'll never stop. You will be the first true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Someday, your son will sit the very throne he desires above all else, and his attention will turn on him."

Unconsciously, her hand drifted to her flat, toned stomach, where she and Kol's children would one day reside, and like that day in the clearing, she felt an untold anger well within her towards her Targaryen foe. "He will never have Kol and I's son," she vowed softly, her voice unwavering.

"He won't have you either, Davina." Though there was relief at her uncle's words, the fear still remained. She might've protected herself this time, and Jaime might save her the next, but what happened when she wasn't paying attention, or Jaime wasn't there?

 _Kol,_ she thought. _Kol will always protect me._

No sooner had she thought the words than did he come storming into the tent, ahead of her parents and his father and a handful of Kingsguards with a fire burning in his usually soft brown eyes that she'd never seen before. She'd never witnessed him angry. He was always smiling around she and his family, calculating but respectful around her mother, and watching Jaime in something akin to admiration. There was none of that now as his eyes swept over the space, ultimately landing on her form with an unreadable, terrifyingly intense expression.

They lingered on her for a few moments, eventually falling to the bloodied bandage covering her wound, which caused a fire to ignite there that had a shiver race down her spine. He wasn't merely angry - he was murderous.

As Robert, Ned, and Cersei passed him, and the kingsguard filed in, lining the massive tent with every intent of protecting their King, Queen, and possible future ruler, Kol's attention shifted from her to the Pentoshi man tied to the post. He approached him until he was standing no more than a step from him, allowing his intimidating height to his advantage as he loomed over him. Even at six and ten, he was taller than both of their fathers and only slightly shorter than Jaime, casting an imposing, menacing shadow as he radiated rage.

"Did Viserys Targaryen send you?" he questioned lowly, waiting for a few moments to see if the man would respond in the common tongue. When he didn't, she saw Kol square his shoulders, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. _"Vestan, gōntan Visērȳs Targārien jikagon ao,"_ he growled in High Valyrian this time, and the man's eyes begrudgingly met his, though he made no effort to speak.

"When my mother's men were dragging him away, after I'd disarmed him, he was shouting _'perzys ānogār'_... fire and blood," she informed him. He'd been escorting Arya and Sansa back to their tent when the attack had happened, and this was the first time she'd seen him afterwards. It was very likely no one had told him the specifics of what had taken place, only that there'd been an unsuccessful attempt on her life, and that was more than enough to send him into a fit of rage.

They held each other's gazes for several long, drawn out moments before she sensed his entire demeanor change. In the next instant, he'd unsheathed a knife and driven it into the man's gut. With a cry of pain, he doubled over, slumping against the pole, only supported by his bindings. Some of the kingsguard flinched at the sudden, violent action, like Ser Meryn Trant, while others such as Jaime and Ser Barristan remained unmoving.

Kol's father looked on disapprovingly as his second eldest took out his anger on Davina's assailant, but did not reprimand him. Her own father's expression was unreadable, while there was a ghost of a smirk gracing her mother's features.

He looked away from the man and met Davina's eyes once more as he twisted the knife for good measure before leaving the man and striding over to her with fluid, powerful steps. The world around them faded away as all they saw was the other until finally, he was standing within arm's reach.

 _"Vēzos qēlossās ñuho"_ he murmured as he cradled her head in his hands, tilting her chin up so their eyes met. The Dothraki language flowed off his tongue with a natural ease that spoke of mastery - one that she, too, shared. Both were fluent in High Valyrian and Dothraki, a fact that very few were aware of until now. _"Fin et been nakhaan tat yer?"_ He questioned, anger swimming in his amber eyes, but she merely shook her head, gently grasping one of his wrists in the process.

 _"Anha zin thir, jalan atthirari anni,"_ she replied, and she felt him relax as she turned and kissed the inside of his wrist in a comforting gesture. He sighed before placing a lingering kiss to her forehead that had her squeezing her eyes shut as she felt his relief wash through him and pass into her at the gentleness of the action.

 _"Īlen jittan ondoso Visērȳs hen Targārien Lentor naejot ossēnagon Davina hen Barāthēon Lentor gō ziry teptan sikagon naejot iā tresy. Mērī vala hen Targārien ānogar kostagon emagon se Dēmalion Āegenko."_ The Pentoshi man's words caused them both to freeze as the true nature of the attack was revealed to them. Davina supposed she and Kol were the only ones in the tent able to speak High Valyrian, including her parents and his father, as she saw Robert glance their way in her periphery.

"What did he say?" he questioned gruffly. She felt Kol tense in front of her as she swallowed thickly before turning to meet her father's cold blue eyes.

"He said he was sent by Viserys Targaryen to murder me before I could bear Kol a son. Only a man of Targaryen blood may posses the Iron Throne," she responded solemnly. Her father was silent for a prolonged moment before he spoke.

"It was your life he threatened...therefore, you should decide his fate," he reasoned, but Cersei was quick to voice her own opinion.

"Have you so easily forgotten that your son was nearly killed also?" she argued, but Robert was having none of her clear favoritism.

"Quiet woman!" he bellowed, much like he had only hours before when Ned had questioned him and Cersei had, seemingly, jumped to her husband's defense. "Davina shall decide the man's fate." Davina's eyes returned to the man, who was wallowing in agony as Kol's dagger was still protruding from his stomach. Carefully, she approached him, gaining his attention.

"You will be drawn and quartered for what you attempted to do to me," she began solemnly, allowing Kol to translate her words into High Valyrian for her so that the King, Queen, the new Hand, and the kingsguard could understand her as she remained speaking in the common tongue. "You will serve as an example to the Targaryens what happens when I am threatened. Your _King,"_ she smirked at the title, "can send however many assassins after me as he likes, but I will survive. In a hundred years time, I will be remembered as the Queen that snuffed out the Targaryen dynasty once and for all, and in two, their name will be completely and utterly forgotten. I will wipe them from history. Let it be known that the true end of the blood of Old Valyria began this night."

A mere fortnight before, she'd been prepared to do whatever it took to prevent a war between herself and the Targaryen siblings - she'd even been willing to treat and come to an agreement with them to avoid another civil war - but now, after the lives of both she and her brother had been threatened, as well as the life of she and Kol's firstborn, she had no choice but to accept the truth. Viserys Targaryen, as Jaime had said, would never stop. He'd keep sending men after her just as he'd sought out a foreign army in the East until her dying day - whether it be at the hands of an assassin or the Crone mattered not. The intent was still the same and after her death, he'd set his sights on her heir.

He would not best her. She would drive his Dothraki horde back from the Narrow Sea and keep at them until they met a bitter end in the Summer Sea at the very end of the Essossi continent. The blood of the dragon would be erased from existence, establishing her House as the greatest the world had ever seen. Like her grandfather before her, she'd restore the luster to House Baratheon that it'd lost since the war, and as Aegon the Conqueror had with House Targaryen, she'd establish and cement a dynasty that would remain long after she was laid to rest in the Great Sept.

Her eyes hardened as he spat at her feet in response to her threat. _"Barāthēon aspo."_ Kol immediately lunged at him for profaning her name, but she caught him by the sleeve and shook her head as he frowned at her. She was flattered by his willingness to protect her honor, truly, but she'd undoubtedly be called worse over the years, so they both might as well get used to it.

 _"Kesā daor glaesagon bōsa naejot gaomagon sīr,"_ the man continued with a sneer, and his words made Davina's blood run cold. She didn't even attempt to stop Kol this time as he flew at the Pentoshi prisoner, slamming him back against the post with an astonishing amount of force whilst demanding he tell him what he'd meant when he'd said she wouldn't live long enough to do so.

"Gods, Ned, tell your boy to control himself," she heard her father say in annoyance, and she turned on him with narrowed eyes but didn't dare speak. She might be his oldest child and possible heir, but it wasn't her place to reprimand the King, nor was it anyone else's.

 _"Se dārilaros won't botagon iā dorolvie tubissa,"_ the man wheezed, having taken a beating from her intended. _"Narys Manticore."_ Kol's eyes swung to meet hers as she felt her heart sink in her chest. Her hand went to her bandages with a hard expression before she swallowed thickly. In moments, Kol was at her side, staring down into her eyes pleadingly.

"Davina, you have to leave for the Capital tonight." She went to argue that she felt fine, but she knew that if the man had really coated the arrow in the toxic, well known poison, the likelihood of her survival was shrinking by the second. Still, Kol shook his head, stopping her. "Grand Maester Pycelle should have an antidote. If you leave now, you can get there within a week and be treated."

"What's going on?" Cersei asked hesitantly, and Davina could hear the apprehension in her tone.

"The bolt that went through my shoulder was laced with manticore venom. If I'm not treated in the next few days...I won't survive." The entire tent was silent as they absorbed the news until, finally, her father began to take action.

"I shall send you forward with an escort of my own Kingsguard. If you make haste, you could be in the Red Keep in a matter of days. Ser Barristan, Ser Jaime, Ser Meryn, and Ser Arys," he said, looking each man in the face as he said their names. "You are to escort the Princess to King's Landing as quickly as possible. Ride all day and night if you must. She is a skilled rider and will have no trouble keeping pace in the beginning, but should she fall behind or start to become ill, you are to treat her as you would me." And with that, he swept out of the tent without so much as a glance in her direction with Ned hot on his heels.

As the four members of her father's Kingsguard moved to obey their King and ready themselves for the journey back to King's Landing while the remaining ones filed out of the tent, following their King, Davina turned to Kol. "I'll go grab my travel pack and meet you by the southeastern edge of camp." She turned to hurry away, but his firm grip on her arm pulled her back to him.

"I'm not coming with you," he said carefully.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her tone displaying just a hint of panic at the thought of them being separated. He sighed and looked away when she fixed him with her Lannister eyes.

"I need to be here for my sisters," he claimed, and while Davina felt guilty for wanting to demand he come with her instead, she feared what might happen to him if she wasn't there to protect him, namely from her mother. "They need me, and you need to be in King's Landing. You can argue that they could come with us, but Sansa will slow us down. You know it to be true." She didn't realize she was shaking her head until he took her face in his hands.

"You might hate the idea now, or you might even hate me for it, but just know...I am doing this for you. I love you, and I am putting you first." He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple as she fought back tears, digging her fingers into his tunic as he began to pull away. "We'll be together soon, and I promise you we'll never be apart again. What's a fortnight compared to nine years?" he asked wryly, trying to lift her spirits, but his attempt was unsuccessful as she tightened her grip on his shirt in silence defiance and tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Kol, I-" she began to argue, but he was gone before she could formulate a complete thought. Her nails dug into the heels of her palms as her sadness turned to anger as she realized just who he felt like he needed to protect Arya and Sansa from. Slowly, she turned to face Cersei, who was now the only one left in the tent with her besides the Targaryen boy's assassin.

"If anything should happen to Kol or his sisters in my absence...you will wish you'd never given birth to me, Mother," she threatened cooly before turning on the Pentoshi man. "And you... _Mazeminna rōvēgrie kirimves naejot ūndegon ao botagon,_ " she said in dismissal before sweeping out of the tent and making for her own, only to be stopped shortly thereafter by Septa Eglantine, who handed her a travel pack.

"Your Uncle told me everything, I've collected everything you should need for a few days journey...now go!" she ushered, shoving the pack into her hands and leaving before Davina could even begin to thank her. As she thanked the Gods for Jaime's quick thinking, she made her way to the southeastern edge of the encampment, finding Rose already ready for her and the four members of the Kingsguard already on horseback.

Without saying a word, she swung up into the saddle expertly and gathered the reins in her hands before urging Rose into a gallop with Jaime, Ser Barristan, Ser Meryn, and Ser Arys not far behind.

* * *

 **A/N: So...how was it? I know it was half the length of Chapter 1, but there was just so much background to that chapter compared to his one. I'm kinda iffy about it myself, but I guess even GRRM (I bow to you, Ser,) feels like that on occasion? I don't know...ANWAYS, guess what's going down next chapter?!**

 **THE WEDDING!**

 **Like I said, it'll be the fluffiest, smuttiest, longest Kolvina fluff to ever fluff and I can't wait to write it! If you guys liked this chapter, leave a favorite, follow, or comment so I know (it really does motivate me) ;D.**


	3. The Golden Wedding

**Title: The Wolf & The Lioness**

 **Chapter 3: The Golden Wedding (1x03)**

 **Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. If I had anything to do with TO, Davina never would've died and she and Kol would be blissfully happy like they are here (at least for the most part).**

 **Genre: Supernatural/Fantasy**

 **Rating: M**

 **Pairings: Kol & Davina, Jaime & Cersei (Canon), Gendry & Arya (Future), Robb & Myrcella (Future)**

 **A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait for this chapter. I've been super duper busy with work and just life in general over the past few months (has it really been that long?) but I'm back now with the Kolvina wedding! This chapter gave me so many problems, mainly because I wanted it to be absolutely perfect and I'm a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to certain things...Anyways, I hope you enjoy and be sur to review/like/follow etc, it really DOES help :3**

 **Warning: Mentions of incest. I'm never going to go full blown incest here, even though I do find myself shipping Jaime & Cersei at points, but their relationship is a huge part of Davina's story as well as the main plot, so just be forewarned...it's there.**

* * *

"You've barely said a word since you were lucid enough to do so," Jaime commented as he busied himself with polishing his sword while seated on the steps just below the Iron Throne. He was in his full suit of armor with his helmet cast to the side as she resided on the throne itself, as had been her ritual since she'd regained consciousness after successfully defeating the poison that'd threatened everything she was working so hard to build, for both her family as well as Kol's.

She'd survived the journey from the Riverlands to King's Landing, if just barely. Jaime himself had been forced to pull her from Rose's back and carry her to Grand Maester Pycelle upon their arrival, and then she'd spent a week drifting in and out as the cure Pycelle had given her ran it's course. According to her handmaidens, Jaime had scarcely left her bedside during the ordeal and had looked absolutely run down when she'd finally woken up.

She'd spent the first day in bed resting, per Pycelle's suggestion, but the next day she'd risen, had her handmaidens dress her and braid her hair in a more mature style, and gone straight to throne room and, much to the astonishment of everyone, high and low born alike, had seated herself on the Iron Throne as if it belonged to her. She remembered the shock plastered clearly on Jaime's face, as with the other members of the Kingsguard who'd accompanied her from the Riverlands, but the moment Ser Meryn had moved to demand she stand, Jaime had chastised him heavily for it.

 _"I am Davina, first born child of Robert, a Baratheon of Storm's End and a Lannister of Casterly Rock. I bow to none other but my lord father, the King, Ser Meryn. You can ask me a hundred times, but I will remain here until the King returns, and should you try to remove me using force, I will slit your throat from ear to ear,"_ she'd said unwaveringly, appearing bored and tired of his annoying presence. Her cold demeanor had been more than enough to quiet Ser Meryn's prattling, and he hadn't said a word to her since.

With her gold plated, ruby inlaid circlet adorning her head - a gift from Tywin for her fifteenth name day - her hair pulled back from her face, and her gowns now possessing straight necklines that put her shoulders on display, she looked every bit like a Targaryen queen of old, as if Visenya Targaryen herself had been reborn a bronze-haired lioness. All Davina needed was a blade of her own and she would be a warrior princess.

Traditionally, each Great House possessed their own sword forged of Valyrian steel. Kol's father carried House Stark's enormous blade, _Ice_ , on his hip nearly everywhere he went. House Tarly had a great two handed sword as well, named _Heartsbane_. House Targaryen had possessed several famed blades over the centuries.

 _Blackfyre_ had been wielded by several Targaryen kings until it'd been given to a bastard son who'd subsequently risen up and rebelled against his father, taking the sword and forming a new House with him as he'd gone. _Dark Sister_ , Visenya Targaryen's famed blade, had also been given to a bastard and vanished without a trace.

House Lannister's prized possession, a beautifully forged sword named _Brightroar_ , had been lost when King Tommen II of Casterly Rock - before Aegon's Rebellion, when Lannisters had been Kings in the West - had sailed to Valyria after the Doom and never returned. Her great uncle, Gerion Lannister, Tywin's youngest brother, had left in search of it near a decade ago and had never returned. Her grandfather had attempted to buy Valyrian steel blades from some of the lesser Houses to replace the void _Brightroar_ had left and the tarnish it brought on their House, but he'd always been denied or rebuffed.

As she sat the throne as comfortably as Aegon himself had, she couldn't help but feel that void now. It was almost as if she were meant to hold a sword in her hand as so many had before her.

She turned her attention back to her uncle, who was watching her expectantly, and had been since he'd spoken some minutes before. "I've been rather lost in my thoughts lately," she explained. "I apologize for being poor company." Normally she wouldn't talk so openly, but seeing as how a raven had arrived that morning with news that the royal party would arrive in the capital early that afternoon, and the other two kingsguard had gone to meet their king, she and Jaime had been left alone in the throne room - he to guard the bloody thing and she to sit it.

"I'd imagine a near death experience would do that to a person, not to mention two."

"I've been thinking about the state of the Seven Kingdoms," she confessed quickly, sounding more like the young maid she was than the queen so many saw her destined to become. "If the Targaryen siblings come for us, we can't win, not divided as we are now." These were the thoughts that had been plaguing her since she'd awoken, and not even essence of nightshade had been able to chase them from her head. She'd had to disguise the dark circles under her eyes with a mixture of flour and lead that she'd only heard of from servants prior to using them, as well as lining her eyes lightly with kohl so that the green of them drew more attention away from the other features of her face.

"And, as Queen, what would you propose we do?" he asked honestly. She closed her eyes tightly, hating that she'd thought of both she and Kol's siblings like they were cattle, but the best way to align the Seven Kingdoms, to intertwine them together, was through marriage, and while she didn't like it, she found she was willing to sacrifice their happiness for the good of the Realm.

"If we are to survive the wars to come, I need a husband that all the Great Houses of Westeros will stand behind, and Kol is that. He will prove to be the greatest king that ever was, even at six and ten I see his potential. I saw it when we were children. It's partially what drew me to him to begin with. Us being friends? That was his doing. I wanted no part of him until he showed me kindness as only you and Uncle Tyrion had before. Loving him? That was not something I chose either, but we were like two moths drawn to each other's flames...hopefully we will not burn because of it," she murmured absently, toying with one of the hilts that protruded from the arm of the throne.

"Joffrey is another matter entirely. Robert is hellbent on him wedding Sansa, but she is young, naive, and impressionable. If they are not wed by the time I am Queen, I am terminating their engagement so Joff won't get the chance to ruin her." Surprisingly, Jaime nodded, agreeing with her judgement on the matter.

"And who would you have them marry if not each other?"

"Mace Tyrell has a daughter, I believe her name is Margaery. I've not only heard tales of her beauty, but also of her likeness to her grandmother, Lady Olenna. She will know how to handle Joff. He'll be a leashed dog and I will have the support of the Reach through marriage, but even that might not be enough. Roses in the South might grow strong, but they typically follow the Sun, and if Dorne sides with the Targaryens when they make landfall, the Reach will follow suit. Because of this, Robb will marry Princess Arianne Martell, Prince Doran's eldest and heir apparent, while 'Cella will marry his son, Prince Trystane. With Dorne linked to both the North and the Iron Throne, they should be twice as loyal, and we will have secured the South." Unlike before, Jaime clearly did not agree with her on this front.

"But the Martells hate us, if you send Myrcella down there-"

"I will send Ser Arys with her as a sworn shield, and if they so much as touch her, I will destroy their cursed House once and for all." She countered. It was cruel of her, to make Myrcella and Robb good-siblings thrice over, especially considering how infatuated her younger sister was with Kol's oldest brother, but she saw no other way. By linking Dorne to both the North and the Crownlands, she could ensure their loyalty remained firmly rested in her.

"Your mother won't like it. She'll fight you on it."

"But I will be Queen, not her. She will be Dowager Queen, and that is merely a title that holds little power. She will not have a say. In time, I pray she can forgive me for it." Jaime looked unconvinced, and even she herself knew Cersei would always begrudge her for it, but it was a necessary evil. The alternative was far worse.

"I will have Theon Greyjoy released, no longer a ward of House Stark, and he and Sansa will marry. Perhaps if I have the Iron Fleet behind me, the dragons won't even make it to Dragonstone." Theon, being the sole living son of Balon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands and heir to the Salt Throne, would be able to provide her with a fleet far superior to any she ever could amass on her own.

"Bran will wed Meera Reed, ensuring our families would have a place to flee to if we need to evacuate King's Landing and are able to head North. They say Greywater Watch moves and that makes it impossible to find. It could be the perfect place to retreat if we are badly beaten back. Arya will marry her cousin, Lord Arryn's son Robin. He's enough of a weakling that she will rule him easily and she can also offer us a place of refuge in the Vale if we require it. Likewise, Rickon will wed some girl from House Lefford, ensuring we have control of the Golden Tooth if we need safe passage to the Rock." Fleeing to Casterly Rock was her absolute last resort, but if she was unable to go North to the Neck and had a clean shot to the West, she'd take it.

"And how does Tommen play into your grand plan?"

"Tommen will marry Randall Tarly's daughter, binding the Reach to us by two marriages to the Iron Throne. We might need their supplies in times of war." Jaime was quiet for a long time, perhaps thinking it all over as he ticked the proverbial boxes. Eventually, he turned to meet her eyes.

"And what of the Stormlands?"

"I will be a Baratheon on the throne...they should need no more cause to follow me than that. The Westerlands are the same. I will not stand for grandfather to sit back idly until he can determine for sure which side will come out on top. I will have Tywin Lannister's fealty, or I will have his head." She said firmly. Davina could care less that she'd just openly admitted to being willing to kinslay if she had to. The Mad King himself had demanded Jaime bring him Tywin's head. She was willingly to go to just about any length needed to preserve their way of life. Tywin Lannister wasn't going to be the thing that stopped her from achieving the future she'd always wanted.

She'd crop him at the neck herself if she had to.

"You're starting to sound like a ruler," he commented, though from his tone she could tell her willingness to kill his father made him uneasy. She straightened her back and held her chin high.

"Not just a ruler. The True Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. If the Targaryens dare to challenge me, they will know that _mine is the fury_. They will _hear me roar_ , and they will know _winter is coming_ for them," she promised solemnly. At the sight of Jaime's amused smirk, she scowled and demanded to know what he found so humorous.

"I was just imagining the absurd number of songs that'll be written about you in the days to come," he said with a smile that set her at ease. She giggled lightly at his words before settling back against the Iron Throne with a sigh just as the massive doors leading into the throne room swung open and Kol's father walked through. His appearance caused her to immediately tense and sit up straighter as he approached. If he was here, that meant Kol was not too far behind, and she had missed him terribly.

The nine years separating them had done nothing to prepare her for the fortnight she'd endured without him. After knowing what it felt like to sleep beside him, to have him within arm's reach, to kiss him and laugh with him, any extended period of time seemed like the most acute torture, as if she wasn't whole if he wasn't by her side where he belonged.

"Thank the gods you're here, Stark," Jaime began, and Davina knew from the start this conversation wouldn't end well. The haughty air in her uncle's tone spoke of nothing but mischief, and while Kol often times shared the same attitude, she knew Lord Eddard Stark would not be amused by Jaime as he was by his own flesh and blood. "About time we had some stern Northern leadership," he said while standing.

Vaguely, Davina recalled there being a Small Council meeting scheduled to begin soon, but seeing as how she was still not permitted to attend, she hadn't paid much attention to the details. Her future good father was no doubt headed to said meeting, however, fresh off his horse. She doubted her father would attend. He'd probably head to his solar and have half a dozen whores sent to him to help him relax after a long journey. The mere thought made Davina sick.

"Glad to see you're protecting the throne," Ned said carefully, eyeing Davina as he uttered the words. He no doubt disapproved of anyone other than the King or his Hand sitting in it, but not even he could intimidate her into relinquishing it. The only person she'd stand for was Robert Baratheon, and until he came into the Red Keep, she'd remain where she was.

"Sturdy old thing...how many kings' asses have polished it I wonder?" he asked rhetorically, and she had to hold herself back from answering him. There'd been seventeen, including Robert Baratheon, since Aegon the Conqueror, and she could list them all if anyone wished. Lord Arryn had made sure she'd known her history well.

 _"The better we know our past, the less mistakes we make in the future,"_ he'd once told her, and the more she matured, the more she agreed.

"What's the line? The King shits, and the Hand wipes." Davina fought the impulse to roll her eyes as Jaime attempted to bait Ned into an argument, and even found herself smiling as her future good father - and her own Hand - ignored her uncle's childish pessimism altogether.

"Very handsome armor. Not a scratch on it."

"I know. People have been swinging at me for years and they always seem to miss." Davina would easily bet there were less people in the known world who could best him than she could count on one hand. During their lessons he was dominating enough...she shuddered to think how unbelievable he'd be in battle, though he hadn't fought in one since his youth.

"You've chosen your opponents wisely then," Ned observed, but there was a deadly look in his gray eyes, not unlike the one she'd witnessed in Kol's just before he'd driven his dagger into the Pentoshi assassin's gut.

"I have a knack for it," was Jaime's reply.

As the two man stared at each other for countless seconds, Davina fidgeted nervously on the throne, praying to whatever gods were listening that this encounter would not come to blows. She intended to appoint them both to extremely high, important positions during her reign, and she couldn't afford for them to be in opposition to one another. The Hand of the Queen and Lord Commander of the Queensguard needed to be able to work together if they hoped to thwart the coming Targaryen invasion.

It also wouldn't do for her children to, potentially, have their grandfathers despise each other.

"It must be strange for you, coming into this room. I was standing," he looked down and nodded, "about right here when it happened." She frowned, unsure of what exactly he was referring to. "He was very brave, your brother...your father, too. They didn't deserve to die like that." In that instant, Davina knew Jaime was referring to when Ned's oldest brother, Brandon Stark, and his father, Rickard Stark, had been murdered in this very room by the Mad King.

Brandon had been imprisoned after demanding Prince Rhaegar release his sister, Lyanna, and Lord Rickard Stark had come to the capital to ransom him. Upon his arrival, he too was arrested for treason, and before the entire court, father and son had been burned alive with wildfire.

"Nobody deserves to die like that," Jaime reaffirmed, perhaps seeing the events unfold in his mind's eye as his tone reflected his honesty.

"But you just stood there and watched."

"Five hundred men just stood there and watched," Jaime said in self defense. "All the great knights of the Seven Kingdoms, do you think any of them said a word, lifted a finger?" He shook his head. "No, Lord Stark. Five hundred men and this room were silent as a _crypt_...except for the screams, of course, and the Mad King laughing." Davina remembered Aerys' cries in her dream and couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine at Jaime's recollection.

"And later, when I watched the Mad King die...I remembered him laughing as your father burned. It felt like justice."

"Is that what you tell yourself at night? You're a servant of justice? That you were avenging my father when you shoved your sword into Aerys Targaryen's back?" He questioned skeptically.

"Tell me, if I'd stabbed the Mad King in the belly instead of the back, would you admire me more?" She knew there was nothing Jaime could ever do to win back Ned's favor, or most of the Realm's. It didn't matter that he had betrayed his oath and sworn duty as a Kingsguard in order to save thousands of lives by slaying the evil villain as the hero so often did in the songs. All the Realm saw was a dishonorable knight betraying his king and that was all he'd be remembered for.

"You served him well...when serving was safe," he said in dismissal before walking past him and heading to the Small Council chamber, nodding respectfully to her.

"I am glad you are doing well, Your Grace," he said honestly. "My son has been beside himself with worry since you left. He will be relieved to know you are in good health." She thanked him quietly and he was on his way.

Jaime turned and followed him with his eyes, anger burning in those green depths at Ned's dismissal of him, and Davina stood from the throne, made her way down the steps, and laid her hand on his armored shoulder.

"He doesn't understand what happened that day, and he doesn't wish to...but I understand, and I am grateful for what you did that day, Jaime. You weren't a Kingsguard murdering his king, but a knight slaying a dragon hell bent on the destruction of the Realm. And I thank the gods every day that you had the courage to do what was right." When he still didn't meet her eyes, she grabbed onto his sword hand, much as he'd said she had just after her birth.

"I know my respect is not much all things considered, but you must know that I am proud of you." She looked around, making sure they were alone before lowering her voice. "And... if you are my father...I'm glad," she admitted with a small smile.

"Really?" he asked with a smile of his own, and as she nodded, his grip tightened on her hand in response. She might still be livid over what he'd likely done to Bran, but if she told him she was suspicious of him, he'd no doubt inform her mother, and a whole new round of events would be set into motion. She wasn't ready to deal with any more surprises just yet, not when her marriage to Kol could potentially be jeopardized because of her actions.

The sound of the doors opening once again caused them both to immediately separate, lest they be caught in a moment so inappropriate for an uncle and niece to share, and upon hearing the telltale sound of two pairs of little feet rushing toward them, Davina turned to see Myrcella and Tommen racing towards her as fast as their legs could carry them, both with wide grins and tears in their beautiful Lannister eyes.

They collided with her at the same moment, and had it not been for Jaime's hand on her back, she would've surely been knocked on her ass due to her brother and sister's combined force. 'Cella threw her arms up around Davina's neck as Tommen wound his around her waist, and she clutched them back just as fiercely as they both began crying in relief.

"Why did you never send a raven?" 'Cella asked with an angry edge to her normally pure, bell-like voice. Davina frowned in confusion as her younger sister shoved her with a rage she'd never witnessed before. "I had no idea if you'd succumbed to the poison, or-"

"I sent a raven, 'Cella," Davina said slowly, and as her sister shook her head with tears in her eyes, she found herself nodding in response. "I swear I had one sent as soon as I woke."

"We never received one," Tommen said, and she looked down to find unshed tears glistening in his eyes. "We didn't know if you were sick or..." he trailed off, seemingly unable to finish, and Davina crouched down next to him, taking his small hands between hers.

"I would never leave you," she promised before glancing to her sister. "Either of you. I promised you long ago that I would always protect you, and I will, as long as there is breath in my lungs," she swore before hugging them both tightly. Over Myrcella's golden head, she saw their mother watching them with a slight smile, and suddenly, all of the quarreling they'd done over the past few moons didn't matter as she extricated herself from her younger siblings and rushed into her mother's waiting arms.

"My special, brave girl," Cersei murmured as she stroked Davina's hair, and she found the courageous, unshaken facade she'd been putting on display for everyone else fade away in Cersei's embrace. She wasn't the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms here, she was simply Davina, and she'd found that, while being treated as the heir to the throne had been nice, she valued her family more than any old iron chair.

After an indeterminable amount of time, she finally pulled away with Cersei wiping the tears from her eyes in the process, washing away the concealer she'd used to hide her dark circles, but she she didn't care if Cersei saw the weakness she'd tried to hide from all others.

"Davina!"

She turned to see Kol making his way towards her, and without another thought, she pulled away from Cersei and all but sprinted to him, throwing her arms around his neck as his went around her waist, lifting her off the ground as he held her to him. She closed her eyes tightly as his presence washed over her, willing away the tears that welled in them as one of his hands delved into her hair in order to cradle the back of her head, as she felt him shaking slightly as if he were crying.

"I prayed to the Mother constantly she would protect you," he said as they pulled apart slightly, still within each other's arms but enough to where they could look in each other's eyes.

"The gods had nothing to do with it. They tried to take me," she said quietly as her hand caressed his cheek. "But I couldn't...I wouldn't go without you."

"When we never received word of your recovery, I feared the worst," he said quickly. "I was prepared to gather an army and sail across the Narrow Sea to end Viserys Targaryen's miserable life myself if you hadn't survived." His expression morphed into one scarily similar to the one he'd worn the next of her attempted assassination. "I still might." Before he could move to do so, she grasped his wrist tightly.

"We will kill him. But we need to be wed and have heirs before we even think of things like that. I swear to you, on the life of our firstborn, we will make him pay...just not today, alright?" She felt him relax at her words. "Focus on our wedding. If we let him steal the joy of our union because we are fixated on what he is doing in Essos, then he wins. Do not let him win." After a few moments, he nodded in agreeance.

She took both of his hands in hers, interlacing their fingers together, and looked down at them bashfully before meeting his dark eyes once more. "If you are not too tired from your journey, would you mind accompanying me to the shore? I haven't seen the ocean since I left for Winterfell and I miss it terribly."

"You haven't visited it since your return?" he questioned incredulously. She could understand his skepticism. He knew just how much she adored the sea. She shook her head with a small smile.

"No, I...I wanted to wait for you. This is your home now as much as mine, and I wished to share it with you...is that so hard to believe?" He laughed and shook his head.

"Gods, I love you." Remembering how he'd uttered those words to her before she'd left and she hadn't said them back - how neither of them had ever said them back to the other - she made a silent promise to herself that she would never not reply with those simple three words ever again.

"And I love you." The smile that graced his features at her words warmed her in a way she'd missed dearly. With a grin of her own, she began pulling him towards the doors of the throne room.

"Darling." Davina stopped and hesitantly turned to meet her mother's eyes, terrified that she was about to forbid her from going off with Kol alone - which even she had to admit was rather inappropriate considering they weren't wed yet - without a chaperone.

Steeling herself for the worst, she sent her mother a pleading look, begging her to allow her the freedom just this once. She was well aware of the potential repercussions and would never in a million years allow she or Kol to lose complete control while they were still unwed. She hoped Cersei knew just how seriously she valued her maidenhead and the importance of it remaining intact until their wedding night.

"You father wishes for us to dine with Lord Stark and your betrothed later this evening at sunset...be back before then?" The smile that graced Davina's face could've put the stars themselves to shame as she nodded enthusiastically while allowing Kol to drag her from the room as they both laughed.

As Kol pulled her down the hallways a bit faster than what her Septa might consider appropriate, she couldn't help but wonder if maybe Cersei was beginning to grow accustomed to the idea of Davina marrying a Stark after all.

* * *

"Are you angry with me?" She asked honestly, studying his chiseled features as he looked out across Blackwater Bay. She'd spent the past half hour trying to explain to him how she believed they should proceed considering their siblings' future marriages, and, even as she'd hurriedly rushed through it due to her nervousness, he'd remained silent.

"I don't like it," he said honestly after a few moments, finally turning to meet her eyes solemnly. Even then, she couldn't help but marvel at how the sunlight gave his irises a beautiful red tint. In the North, his eyes appeared to be one flat color in the pale light, but here in the South, she could pick out a dozen different shades and hues, almost as if his eyes came alive in a way they weren't in his childhood home.

"Neither do I, but we can't allow love to cloud our judgement."

"Then what are we doing?" he asked exasperatedly, gesturing between them. "What have we been doing for the past nine years?" She looked away guiltily. "More than anything, I want all of my siblings to have what we have, or even the smallest shred of it, and I know you want the same for Myrcella and Tommen. I wholeheartedly agree with you over breaking Sansa's betrothal. I don't want that smug little bastard marrying and then abusing her, as Robert did to your mother, but the rest..." he trailed off, and she could tell his heart was warring with his head on the matter.

He knew it was the smart thing to do from a tactical standpoint - if they wished to keep the Targaryens from restoring their dynasty it was the only thing they could do - but he was having trouble reconciling it in his heart.

"Let's not speak of such things now," she said gently, laying her hand on his shoulder. "We've been reunited after a rather unexpected separation. I'd prefer we discuss matters of state after our wedding." In response, Kol wrapped both arms around her waist as she snaked hers around his neck.

"Agreed. I'd much rather pretend I'm just a boy who has miraculously been able to secure the hand of the girl he loves, for today at least. That I am not my father's spare, and you are not considered by some to be the third son." She closed her eyes and nodded, trying to see this version of their future as he was.

"Do you ever think about what it would be like to be ordinary people?" she asked softly. She felt him press his forehead to hers and take a calming, deep breath that washed over her, creating much the same effect on her as it had him.

"You mean the kind that grow up working the land? Sleeping in tiny cottages with the rest of their family?" He asked quietly. She grinned as she could hear the smile in his tone and knew that was exactly the life he was imagining for them.

"Yes," she whispered with a slight laugh. "We could be the authors of our own destiny. I could bear you as many children as we could handle, we could have our own trade and work for the things we need rather than have it handed to us because we were lucky enough to be born into some of the greatest families in the known world. We could define ourselves in the good we did, not because of who our fathers or grandfathers were."

"Could you truly live like that?" He asked honestly, and she opened her eyes as she felt him pull away slightly. "If you had the choice, would you give up all of this? Could you truly give up a chance at the Iron Throne for that life?" The clear vulnerability in his amber eyes made her heart ache as he laid his open to her. He didn't want wealth or power as so many others in the Realm did, and she'd known that from the beginning. All he had ever wanted in this life was the chance of spending it with her.

"Of course I could," she answered honestly, reach out in order to caress his cheek. "That damned thing doesn't matter to me as you do, and it never could. You are and always will be my most precious possession, Kol. Our impending marriage, the life we'll have together, that is worth more to me than some ugly iron chair or the hope that things might one day align so I have the option to sit it." He smiled sadly before shaking his head. To her immense confusion, he pulled her hand away from his face and returned it to her side.

"I am not your most precious possession." She went to argue, but he stopped her. "I know how much you love me, and I thank the gods every moment that you care for me as much as I adore you, but I know you could survive without me, because you are the strongest person I know. But we both know there is one person you wouldn't be able to handle losing," he argued knowingly before kissing her on the forehead.

"I'll see you when we dine with our fathers, alright?" he said quietly and then he was gone, striding away from her before she had even realized who he'd been referring to, but after she reflected on his words for several moments, she understood perfectly.

He was right - she could survive him, though 'survive' was putting it mildly. Living without him would be one of the most painful things she could ever experience, but she could do it, she could carry on, because he would want her to. Under those circumstances, each and every step she would take would be in honor of his memory. He would want her to have a full life, with or without him, and she would try her damnedest to make sure she did so.

She could survive losing her mother as well, especially with how complicated things still were between them. The loss would nearly crush her, but she could recover from it. Admittedly, Jaime's loss would send her spiraling, but not one she wouldn't be able to eventually pick herself up from afterwards. If she lost Tommen her heart would break, but she could mend it in time. But there was one person she couldn't stand to lose.

And that person was her sister.

* * *

Her handmaidens had just finished lacing her into her evening gown - a simple yet elegant dress in the Baratheon colors - when there was a knock on the door of her chambers. As one of the five attending her went to see who was at her door, another tied off a small braid just behind her ear. The majority of her bronze tresses had been left to their own devices except for a braid spanning each side of her head and the one that'd just been completed.

Her ladies had warred with each other over whether or not to wash her hair after being subjected to the salt of the Narrow Sea, but three of the five had preferred the slightly defined curls it had given her and decided to leave it be.

"You look absolutely radiant, Davina," one of them said as they all stepped back in order to admire her. Ever since the five had first arrived some near three years prior to attend her, she'd insisted on the use of her given name instead of her title.

"Thank you, Alysanne," Davina replied with a smile as the four of them fawned over her, which, admittedly wasn't anything out of the norm. Her handmaidens loved to shower her in compliments she knew to be genuine.

Alysanne gave a slight bow of her golden head, reminding Davina that, while Alysanne was her handmaiden, she was also the eldest child and sole daughter of Leo Lefford, the head of House Lefford, one of House Lannister's most important vassals. Her family's ancestral seat, the Golden Tooth, controlled all passes into and out of the Westerlands by land, and had done so for many generations.

All of her ladies, in fact, came from lesser Houses loyal to House Lannister. Looking back on it now, Davina knew it to be her mother's doing, undoubtedly encouraged by Tywin himself.

The one who had finished lacing her dress, Victaria, was the youngest daughter of Terrence Kenning, Lord of Kayce. She was lean with dark, curly hair, eyes as bright as the Summer Sea, and freckles scattered across her pronounced, pale cheekbones.

Beside her stood Kyra Swyft, her great Aunt Dorna's niece. Dorna Swyft had married Kevan Lannister some years before - an occurrence her mother suspected was House Swyft's greatest fortune in a number of years - making she and Davina related by marriage. She was slightly confused as to what exactly they were, but she'd always preferred to call Kyra her second cousin and had left it at that. Like Davina, Kyra shared nearly the exact same bronze colored waves and green eyes, though they lacked the luster Lannister green was known for. Where Davina's were vibrant and stunning, Kyra's were less pronounced with more amber in them, though they weren't completely brown like Kol's.

Next came Larra of House Clifton, whose own mother had attended to Cersei when they were girls, though before their thirteenth year, Larra's mother, Jeyne Farman, had run away and married one of her brother's bannermen who hailed from House Clifton and had borne him a dozen children, Larra included. Behind the girl's back, Davina often heard Cersei talk poorly of her mother. She typically had selective hearing when it came to her mother's acidic gossip anyways, but when it came to discussing her ladies in a distasteful light, Davina chose to ignore her mother's prattling.

She might take after her mother in many things, but she certainly did not share her twisted joy at tearing others down.

"Alysanne is right, Kol won't be able to keep his eyes off you, cousin," Kyra agreed with a mischievous smile that made Davina giggle slightly. Away from the eyes of the court and their noble families, Davina had encouraged Kyra to think of and refer to her as family, while she'd begged the other girls to consider her as a friend first, and a member of the royal family second.

Admittedly, the five of them hadn't been attending to her for long - she'd found them waiting in her solar the moment she'd returned from her time at Casterly Rock some two years before - but she felt as if they all understood each other perfectly, and a fast friendship had formed between them as a result. They weren't as close to her heart as Myrcella or Kol were, but she did confide in them greatly.

"I swear to the Seven, if the Queen makes one comment about your hair being 'too plain' or 'unbefitting of a Princess'-" Victaria was interrupted from her tirade by a slight bump of the shoulder from Larra.

"I wouldn't speak so loudly. Her Grace has eyes and ears all over this place," she warned. Davina often thought of Larra as the most ambitious of the bunch, despite her House being one of the lowest regarded in the Westerlands. Unlike her mother - according to what she'd heard from her own at least - Larra was bright, cunning, and well versed in what her Uncle Tyrion liked to call 'The Great Game'. Davina knew in the days to come she would value Larra's opinions and advice greatly.

"To hell with the Queen," Victaria countered with a roll of her eyes. "If Davina prefers her hair this way, then that is how I will fix it. I serve her, not Cersei Lannister, therefore her opinions matter little to me." The other three ladies giggled, pretending to be scandalized at Victaria's words as Davina lightly chuckled in response. "Besides, anything is better than that bird's nest look she sports in court."

Thankfully, Davina's handmaidens shared her distaste for the popular Southern hairstyles women wore while at court, so none of them ever pressed or pressured her into wearing one.

"Not even Septa Eglantine could force me to do such a wretched thing to my hair," Davina added with a laugh that sent all of her ladies into another bout of their own. While Davina and Myrcella's septa intimidated them as much as she did her charges, the girls still loved to joke about everything the woman did.

"What do you think, Mayree?" Alysanne asked as she glanced behind Davina.

The last of her ladies, Mayree of House Westerling - who had been the one to answer the door - walked back into the room at that moment, her dark head downcast as she studied the parchment in her hands. As she approached her, she flipped it over in her hands, finding the seal unbroken, and whatever symbol she saw made her freeze.

"Mayree?" Davina asked hesitantly as she turned, having seen her reaction in the mirror. The girl's hazel eyes shot up to meet her's, and the clear shock radiating from them caused Davina's blood to run cold. "What is it?" With shaky hands, her lady handed her the folded piece of parchment, and upon seeing the seal, she felt as though all of their air in her chambers had simply disappeared.

It was a three headed dragon. The Targaryen sigil.

None of them had been living when House Targaryen had been driven from Westeros, but they all knew what it meant.

The room was deathly silent save for the sound of Davina breaking the seal and unfolding the letter. Her eyes scanned the words and she simultaneously felt her heart sink and her hatred for the cursed House and it's head reaching new heights as she reached the end and saw Viserys Targaryen's signature.

In his arrogant and haughty style, the Beggar King had suggested - more aptly demanded - she become his Queen, offering her empty promises of freedom, peace, and prosperity. She knew Viserys was more like his father than Rhaegar ever was, and that the Targaryen madness would strike him in time if it hadn't already. She knew if she married him she would simply be trading Joffrey for Viserys, and the Seven Kingdoms would still have another undeserving, unfit individual on the throne. It mattered not what blood flowed through his veins, for the outcome would be the same.

Perhaps knowing her answer, he'd set out to ensure she agreed by sending men to take Myrcella hostage until Davina agreed to be his Queen, and if she never did, he'd simply take Myrcella instead.

Knowing she had to act immediately if there was any hope of thwarting his plans, she took a solitary, deep breath before her eyes immediately fell on Kyra and Mayree. "I need you both to take this letter to the King and Queen as quickly as you both can manage. We were to dine in the Queen's chambers tonight and they are both undoubtedly there already, as is Lord Eddard and Kol. Tell them to have reinforcements sent to the main gates of the city as well as the docks. No one leaves King's Landing until Myrcella is back in my arms." Both girls curtsied before hurrying out of her chambers, leaving Alysanne, Larra, and Victaria.

"Alysanne, I need you to go find my Uncle, Ser Jaime. Explain that Myrcella is in danger from a Targaryen threat. Larra and Victaria, I need you to alert the Lord Commander so that he might amass the Kingsguard." Alysanne and Victaria both immediately moved to do her bidding, but Larra, ever the brightest of them all, cast a suspicious look her way.

"And what do you intend to do, Davina?"

Davina sighed heavily before steeling herself for the task laid before her.

"I'm going after her."

* * *

In the end, Kol, Jaime, and Cersei had all caught up to her in her search for her sister. Robert had gone looking for Ser Barristan, despite Kyra and Mayree's reassurances that Larra and Victaria had been dispatched to find and inform him of the letter she'd received. She'd performed a simple tracking spell using Jaime and Cersei's blood, refusing to answer any of the incessant questions her mother continually peppered her with, choosing instead to focus on tracking Myrcella.

In all actuality, she had acted swiftly enough that her sister's abductors hadn't gotten terribly far at all. They hadn't even made it to the courtyard before they'd overtaken them, and she, Kol, and Jaime had made quick work of the five Essosi men, allowing a crying Myrcella to run into Cersei's waiting arms once they were distracted. She'd turned and hidden within her mother's embrace, trying her best to drown out the noise.

Once, Davina remembered the first time Jaime had found her after she'd witnessed Robert strike her mother. It hadn't been the first time it'd happened, but she had never truly been able to tame her fear of it before then. He'd told her of how he'd endured all the horrible things the Mad King had done, what he'd done time and time again to try and block everything else out.

He'd gone away inside himself, focused on a singular happy memory to distract him from the horror of it all. As she cut down one man, then two, and as Kol and Jaime took care of the others, she wished she could tell Myrcella to do so. She knew her sister would hear the men's screams for many nights to come...as would she.

For all her threats, for all her displays of strength and vows of defiance, she had never before taken a human life, and she found that when she buried her sword in the first man's shoulder, penetrating his lungs, whatever little was left of her innocence died with him. Taking care of the second had been as easy as breathing afterwards, and as she turned to face her sister, blood staining her pretty gown and a deep gash upon her forehead, she expected Myrcella to shrink back in fear...except for the fact she didn't.

"Why did you do that?!" she yelled, tears burning in her green eyes, but it made her fierce in a way Davina had never seen her before. Since the day she'd come into the world, Myrcella had always been meeker than her other siblings - she'd barely even cried when she'd been a babe. Davina had always known, better than perhaps anyone, that Myrcella was stronger, braver, and more like a lioness than a doe, but she'd always been painfully shy. "I was ready to do my duty! I was ready to end this war before it even began!" Davina felt herself shaking her head without even meaning to do so.

"No, 'Cella-"

"I was ready to sacrifice myself for the greater good!" Behind her, Cersei laid a hand on her shoulder, but Myrcella shocked everyone by shrugging it off immediately. Myrcella had never defied Cersei before, even in an act as simple as this.

"You realize that if you had allowed me to go with them, I could've helped broker a peace between us and the Targaryens? Now there will be no saving us when they come," she declared emphatically, and clear belief that they would be unable to withstand a Targaryen invasion caused Davina to grit her teeth and swallow back the bile that'd risen in her throat.

"Of course I realize that!" She snapped, sounding so frustrated, so angry, that it caused Myrcella to nearly jump out of her own skin. She shrunk back against Cersei, and the look in her green eyes made her older sister feel impossibly guilty. With a sigh, Davina knelt down next to Myrcella and took her hands between her own. "But none of that matters," she went on, lowering her voice in an attempt to ease her younger sister's mind. "They have it all wrong. They don't rid themselves of us, 'Cella... we rid ourselves of them," she answered fiercely before standing to her feet.

Cersei reached out then, intending on examining the gash on her forehead, but Davina batted her hand away angrily. She didn't wish to be touched, by anyone. Instead, she glanced back at the fives bodies lying on the ground, staining the floor crimson, with the putrid smell of death hanging in the air. She thought about what they'd attempted to do to her sister, and the tears burned the backs of her eyes like wildfire.

"Place all of their heads on spikes at the city gates. I want everyone in the Seven Kingdoms to know what fate has in store for those who would try to rise against us," she told Jaime. Kol made a move to comfort her, seeing the tears in her eyes, but she brushed by him and began making her way back to her solar alone.

Viserys Targaryen needed to be held accountable for his crimes, and she was going ensure that came to pass.

* * *

It couldn't have been an hour later when Jaime, Cersei, and Kol all arrived at her door. Jaime had instructed several men of the City Watch to mount Myrcella's would-be abductors' heads on spikes, Cersei had put Myrcella to sleep and left her under guard for the night, and Kol had been conversing with Ned before coming to her.

She'd spent the hour preparing the spell she'd use to put Viserys Targaryen in his place, once and for all, and had just finished setting everything the way it was required when they'd shown up at her door.

"So, it's really just a simple suspension spell," she explained as she finished lighting the candles as Cersei and Kol watched while Jaime tried to make something of the High Valyrian scribbles in her ancient grimoire acquired by Qyburn. "The poison stops my heart, and the spell keeps me from dying for good."

"I don't like it," Cersei responded immediately, clearly opposed to the plan, and in truth, Davina hadn't expected her to be in agreeance with it, but she let out a frustrated sigh all the same.

"Mother, this is the only way I will know for sure if Viserys Targaryen understands the gravity of what he's done. I need to see the look in those ghastly violet eyes of his when he realizes he will never reclaim The Seven Kingdoms."

"How do you know it will even work?" Jaime asked, finally looking up from the grimoire, unable to decipher the words inscripted on it's pages. Reading had never been Jaime's strong suit - he had enough trouble with their mother tongue as it was - so Davina wasn't surprised in the slightest his attempt had proved unsuccessful, though she was flattered that he'd tried at all.

"I don't," she responded flatly, honestly.

"What could possibly go wrong," Kol quipped, voicing his agreeance with her mother for once. She knew the two would butt heads many times over the years to come, there was no escaping it. Her husband to be and her mother were both headstrong, independent, and opinionated. It would be foolish to think they'd agree on many things, but she knew on the issue of her well-being, they'd always be of one mind.

She prayed that, eventually, Kol's love for her would cause Cersei to care for him as she would Joffrey or Tommen, that she'd consider him a son, but she wasn't holding her breath. She did believe one day, preferably sooner rather than later, Jaime would take Kol under his wing and the two would become close friends. To his credit, Kol had committed himself to trying on both fronts, determined to have at the very least one of her parents look upon him favorably.

While he did consider Robert to be her father, he thought of him as her father in name only. Jaime, he said, was who he thought of to be hers in everything else - her mentor, her protector, her friend, even her blood father. He'd confessed to her one night before she'd been attacked that he saw Jaime in her when she laughed or when she was teasing him as clearly as he saw Cersei when she was cross or displayed her strength.

Most men would've looked down on her because of it, but instead he claimed it made him love her all the more since Jaime was someone he admired a thousand times more than he ever would his father's boyhood friend, and she in turn loved him even more dearly for it.

"Relax. I'm just going to pop over to Essos and pop right back, easy...all I need to do is channel your power." Kol froze for a moment, and she could tell he was weighing his options before shaking his head in refusal.

"No. No, no, no," he said quickly whilst approaching her as she stood by her favorite crimson and gold chaise lounge. "I know I've been able to deny you nothing since the moment we met, but this is me putting my foot down for once, love." As soon as the words had left his lips, she began to feel lightheaded and immediately reached out to him for support. He immediately grasped her arm with one hand while his other arm slipped around her waist in order to keep her upright. Out of the corner of her eye, despite her blurred vision, she could see both Jaime and Cersei begin to move towards her, only to stop as Kol caught her with ease.

She felt as though winter itself was creeping through her veins and her breathing began to become more labored, and as her nails dug into Kol's shoulder, he released a sound she could only identify as disbelief.

"You already took the poison, didn't you?" he asked rhetorically, clearly not overtly pleased with her acting without him. All she did was send a guilty glance his way before she averted her eyes and moved to sit on the lounge, fearing her legs would give out if she tried standing again. He was right - she'd already ingested the potent mix just a few mere minutes before they'd arrived in her solar.

He shook his head in disbelief before sighing and bending down beside her so they were face to face. "Alright, for the record, if there ever was a definition of foolishness, there would be a very vivid description of what's going on right now." The panicked quality of his voice caused her to look away guiltily once more before his sigh of defeat brought her green eyes back to his amber ones. "What do I need to do?"

In response, she reached behind her and picked up her favored lion-headed dagger with her right whilst pulling his hand into her lap with her left. She met his eyes, silently asking permission, and upon his reluctant nod, she pressed the steel to his palm and dragged it across his skin from heel to knuckle, forming a vertical incision. She did the same to her own, but she cut from her thumb across her palm, forming a horizontal line of red instead of the vertical one she done on his.

She laid her hand atop his so that their blood aligned perfectly, and as she felt it begin to mix, he wrapped his fingers firmly around her smaller hand in a steadfast grip. She felt the magic in her blood bond and cling to the magic in his desperately as the Stranger began to wrap her in her embrace. Unable to remain upright any longer, she collapsed back onto the chaise with a slight groan.

Using the last of her energy, she managed to turn her head so their eyes met. "Whatever happens, don't let go...you're my link to the living." He nodded but said nothing else. As her heart began to slow and her vision began to dim, she felt more than saw her mother kneel on the other side of her and stroke some errant strands of hair away from her face.

"Jaime," she called out weakly, her voice now louder than a whisper. "M-make sure Kol doesn't let..." she was gone before she could finish.

* * *

She crept through the shadows of the Dothraki encampment like a ghost in the wind, easily evading detection as she flitted from tent to tent searching for Viserys'. From the looks of it, the sun had just sank below the horizon, and in the dark, she could easily pass for a Dothraki with her darker hair and olive complexion. In the sunlight, her Andal ancestry would be all too easily identifiable, but the moon was her ally this night.

A smile graced her lips as she allowed herself to imagine it was Kol watching over her.

She passed by a rather large tent covered in horse hide - the Dothraki's used horses for nearly everything, from food to methods of payment, even as their gods - and the sound of two heavily accented voices, one a man's and the other a woman's, arguing intensely gave her pause.

The man muttered a jumble of words that not even Davina could begin to decipher, despite believing herself to be somewhat fluent in the language, to which the woman replied to scathingly with much more vigor and anger in her voice than the man had.

"I don't think she wants to eat dog," a rougher, masculine voice with a distinct Northern accent commented. _So, Viserys has a Northman by his side who can also speak Dothraki,_ she thought grimly before squaring her shoulders. _No matter. He could have a thousand Westerosi, descendants of the First Men and Andals alike, and I would still defeat him. What is one man compared to the Realm?_

She wasn't expecting the woman's next words, however, spoken in a broken, primitive rendition of her mother tongue.

"The Khaleesi have baby inside her." Davina felt her stomach drop at her words, and she shakily sat down in the shadows cast by the tent as she felt her knees buckle.

This was exactly what she feared most. She'd known deep in her bones the moment Daenerys had wed the Dothraki Khal that this would inevitably happen, but she hadn't expected it so soon. She had believed she and Kol would be wed, Robert would've declared her his heir, and her belly would've already begun to swell with Kol's child before news reached her of the existence of a Targaryen heir, but here she was, an unwed, virginal princess, her future already on uneven ground, with her own son's enemy growing inside the Targaryen girl.

"It is true. She does not bleed for two moons, her belly start to swell." Daenerys Targaryen had to have been with child before Davina had even reached Winterfell, and her child would be in this world before hers. A child that would be capable of swinging a sword before hers, of speaking before hers, of doing everything before hers.

She shut her eyes tightly, trying to calm herself as her thoughts threatened to depict the very future she'd feared since she was a girl, but two voices filled her head - a feminine one speaking Dothraki and a male, not unlike the one she'd just heard, translating.

 _"A stallion who mounts the world. The stallion is the Khal of Khals. He shall unite the people into a single Khalasar - all the people of the world will be his herd."_

 _"Khalakka dothrae mr'anha. Ma me nem ahakee ma Rhaego!"_ Another feminine voice exclaimed with pride, and Davina knew it to be that of Daenerys Targaryen. This time, she knew exactly what the girl was so joyously announcing.

A Prince rides inside me. And he shall be called Rhaego. Named after her older brother, felled by Robert Baratheon, and the man she'd married.

And Davina swore she died a little inside as the ghostly voices of the Dothraki chanted the name of her own son's future rival in her head until she swore it would burst.

* * *

She was unsure of how long she remained there, huddled in the dirt and grass in the shadow of the tent, but she eventually took a deep breath, collected herself, and stood before weaving her way through the maze until she reached Viserys' tent. Quietly, she entered, and found him alone, staring into the flames lit in the hearth. For a moment, she swore she could see a glimpse of the madness that'd plagued his father, the Mad King, as he gazed into the fire with his unearthly, yet still lovely, violet Targaryen eyes.

"If you're searching for my sister, you best look elsewhere, girl. She is not here," he said without looking her way, obviously believing her to be one of Daenerys' handmaidens or servants. Her eyes narrowed dangerously at the pompous air in his voice, and she assumed her regal stance, looking every inch a true Queen beside this pretender of a King.

"Actually, I was looking for you," she responded, the slightest bit of anger resonating in it. The fact he'd spoken down to her, regardless of knowing her true identity or not, had risen her proverbial hackles, and she realized that she could never wed this man, even to save the Seven Kingdoms from yet another civil war. She would've surely slit his throat on their wedding night before he'd laid a hand on her.

In a moment, he'd shot to his feet and unsheathed his sword, brandishing it in her direction. "How dare you speak to me in such a way?! I am the Dragon!" He screeched. Davina smirked. _You are not the Dragon,_ she thought. _Rhaegar was the Dragon. You are nothing but a second son squandering for his father and brother's leftovers._ Their eyes met, and she could see him putting the pieces together as he stared into the green of them before he chuckled and lowered his sword.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, _Lady_ Davina?" he asked with a cocky smirk, his eyes traveling the length of her body several times in an appraising manner, causing her to cross her arms across her chest and glare at him. He chuckled at her determined silence. "You know, my father found your grandmother very desirable." She took a singular step backwards in response to the one he took towards her. "I've heard many say your likeness to her was uncanny, but I didn't quite believe it myself until now. You are quite beautiful indeed. Your reputation precedes you."

Several had said as much to her over the years, though her hair was a different shade than Joanna's. She favored her grandmother in her facial features very much, or so Jaime had once told her. If she dwelled on it long enough, Tywin's clear distaste for her could stem from that and that alone.

"While I'm flattered, surely, I've come to tell you I will never be your Queen, and neither will my sister for that matter." His expression darkened considerably, and she could almost imagine she was staring into the eyes of Aerys himself, not his younger, sole surviving son and heir apparent.

"Poor, naive child," he muttered patronizingly. "You don't know it yet, but you're on the wrong side. When I cross the Narrow Sea, with the Dothraki at my back, many will die...you can save them all from such a fate. Wed me, unite our Houses, and with our claims to the Iron Throne your father would be a fool to resist you then. We both know he will choose your brother in the end." She scowled as he took several steps closer, bridging the gap between them, but this time, she stood her ground, refusing to back down.

"We'll see," she replied before her hands shot out and she began chanting in High Valyrian, calling upon her magic. _"Visērȳs hen Targārien Lentor, nyke qrimbrōzagon ao."_ He screamed, falling to his knees and clutching his chest. The acrid smell of burning flesh filled the tent as the spell began to take root, locking him to this land for the duration of his natural life. _"Ao kessa dōrī mazilībagon deks va se tegun hen aōha sikagon hae bōsa hae ao geron se tegon."_ He would never again set foot in Westeros, no matter how fervently he tried. She'd just made such a feat impossible.

When it was finished, he panickedly tore open his tunic to reveal the ghastly skeleton shaped key burnt into the skin of his chest, directly above his heart. "What have you done to me?!" he yelped, only serving to heighten her sense of victory, and her smile widened dangerously.

"Get comfortable here in Essos, Viserys. I have locked your flesh and blood to the land you hate so much. You are trapped here for the rest of your pathetic life," she promised darkly.

* * *

Instead of waking in her solar, when she opened her eyes, she was lying on a plush bed of deep green moss in the middle of a dense forest. She sat up in confusion, squinting as the sunlight shone through the branches of the massive trees around her, disorienting her as she tried to piece together where the spell had gone wrong.

She'd prepared everything just the way it had needed to, taken the appropriate amount of poison, and had said the words perfectly. The only reason she could possibly think of would be if Kol had let go, and she knew Jaime and her mother would never have allowed that to happen. Could their magics have reacted to each other, like they had that day at the Trident? Was her magic drawing on his own, sending her here? If so, was he here as well, as he had during the last vision?

"Kol?" she called out as she pushed herself to her feet, reaching out for a nearby tree as her vision swam momentarily. Davina waited for what felt like hours to hear his voice, for the reassurance that they were sharing another vision, but all she was met with was silence. She tried once more, louder this time, but again, there was nothing.

With a heavy sigh, she looked around again, having no earthly clue as to where she was, only that she knew she was back in Westeros. Essos didn't have many forests that she knew of, so she was back in her homeland at the very least. She could rule out Dorne and the lands north of the Neck as well. Dorne was very much like Essos in it's scenery, and the leaves were too luscious, too vibrant, to be of the North, leaving the Stormlands, Crownlands, Westerlands, Riverlands, Eyrie, and Reach as a myriad of options.

She looked this way and that, reasoning that the only way to figure out where exactly she was would be to find her way out of the forest and perhaps even make the long trek back to her body on foot when she heard a scream close by that could only have come from a girl not much older than Myrcella.

Struck by a sudden burst of curiosity, she decided to root out the source of the noise and began to head in the direction it'd come from, eventually leading her a small hut built from straw and twigs found in the forest. Even from a distance, Davina could see a fire burning inside, and could faintly hear voices coming from within, and as she crept closer, they grew louder.

"This is my father's land... _my land._ " Came the voice of a girl who, again, couldn't have been much older than Myrcella, yet sounded leaps and bounds more mature and jaded. "Tell me my future, or I'll have your two boring eyes gouged out of your head." Davina heard someone - this one an older woman no doubt - laugh at the girl's demand before she went silent, and as Davina ducked into the hut, she was met with the sight of two young girls standing before a seated, ragged looking woman.

The girl closest to Davina, clearly shaking in fear of the woman, had dark hair and wore a light yellow dress, whilst the other, this one standing proudly with long, flowing golden tresses, wasn't even three feet from the elder woman. None of them seemed to notice her presence, and she guessed it was because, technically, she was still only a spirit.

The woman, clearly a well known witch based off the little she'd heard, reached beside her and picked up a knife before extending it to the blonde, instructing the girl to draw blood, which she did hesitantly. The witch then grasped the girl by the wrist and dragged her closer in order to taste her blood. Davina had read about such magic, which was extremely similar to the kind she herself practiced on occasion, but she'd never been able to witness it first hand. Not that she'd been able to observe another witch practicing at all, since she knew of no other but herself.

The blonde girl sent a bewildered, disgusted look to her companion behind her, offering Davina the first true glimpse of her face, as well as the golden locket she wore around her neck, with a lion engraved on the front. Davina's hand went to where her own would usually sit, only to find nothing. She hadn't seen hide nor hare of it since she'd tossed it away some near two moons before.

"Mother?" she asked quietly as the woman released Cersei's wrist.

"Three questions you get," the witch told her. "You won't like the answers," she warned. Cersei squared her shoulders, straightened her back, and lifted her chin high as Davina had seen her do far too many times before. Idly, she wondered where Jaime might be. She'd heard they'd been inseparable in their youth - even before she'd known the depth of their relationship - but they had been separated around this time with Jaime being sent to squire for Lord Sumner Crakehall. They'd seen each other rarely until Robert's Rebellion had ended some seven years later and Jaime had been pardoned by the King while Cersei had become Queen.

"I've been promised to the Prince," she began. "When will we marry?" Tywin might've promised Cersei she would wed Rhaegar and eventually be his Queen, but Aerys had never agreed to the match and had refused it by wedding Rhaegar to Elia Martell of Dorne instead.

"You will never wed the Prince. You will wed the King," the witch countered, and Davina swore she felt a chill run down her spine at the woman's words, for she had just foretold of her mother wedding Robert Baratheon.

"But I will be Queen?" Cersei asked uncertainly, reading between the old woman's words easily.

"Oh yes," she breathed in agreeance. "You'll be Queen...for a time." Davina's eyes darted to the witch at the words, knowing this to be a prophecy yet to be fulfilled. "Then comes another, younger, more beautiful, to cast you down and take all you hold dear." Was that why her mother opposed her rule so fiercely? Did she believe Davina to be the one to cast her down from her throne?

"Will the King and I have children?" she asked, seemingly taken aback by the witch's previous answer.

"The King will have twenty children...and you will have four."

"That doesn't make sense-"

"Gold will be their crowns...gold, their shrouds." Her mother's prideful expression morphed into one of immense confusion, and as the witch began to cackle, fear. Her companion, seemingly having had enough of their adventure, proceeded to drag her out of the hut and back out into the forest - that Davina now knew to be the Westerlands - as the old witch's laughter slowly died out.

Suddenly, the witch turned all knowing eyes on Davina and offered her a sly smile. "Davina, I've been expecting you." Davina took half a step backwards out of sheer fright, making the witch chuckle. "No need to be afraid of me, child. I mean you no harm," she claimed with a softer, much more genuine smile than any of the ones she'd shown her mother. "Come, sit, for there is much to discuss." She gestured to the ground in front of her, and after a moment of hesitation, Davina did as the old woman bid.

"How did you know I would be here?" she asked warily.

"We witches know things, yes?" she said knowingly. "I hear the Beggar King has been dealt with, or so the ravens tell me." Davina cocked her head in confusion as her mouth opened and closed several times, attempting to come up with a response but ultimately unable to. "I know a great deal of things, many of which have not yet come to pass." In that moment, Davina was incredibly tempted to ask after her own future, as her mother had, but the woman seemingly knew her heart's desire before she even had the chance to voice it.

"You shall wed the Scaled Wolf, the mate of your soul," she said with a nod, and Davina could only guess the "Scaled Wolf" was Kol. "It shan't be long now, for the Born King's time draws nigh, and four shall follow him - the Red Wolf, the Lion Queen, the Warrior, and the Golden Knight." Davina was speechless for a moment as the old woman's words washed over her.

"Kol and I will have a son?" she asked in astonishment, and the witch nodded. "Before the next moon comes, you will be with child. Though he is born in darkness, he shall thrive in the bitter cold as only those of his kind can."

"And...shall I be Queen?" Davina asked shakily, remembering the unearthly chuckle the question had earned her mother when asked not minutes before. The old woman seemed to ponder on her answer for a moment before nodding solemnly. "Aye, for a mere moment and a lifetime." As her mother before her, Davina's brows drew down in confusion.

"That doesn't make any sense," she argued.

"It will...in time," the witch assured. "And when that time comes, seek me out, for you and I have not seen the last of each other. There is much I need to teach you before the Long Night comes once more, and we haven't nearly enough time for it." Davina felt the same icy sensation slice through her veins as she had while breaking her fast with her family the morning they had departed from Winterfell, and she released a shaky breath.

"A-and how will I know when the time is right?" she asked hesitantly.

"When you are betrayed by the one you trusted most, the time for you to take your leave will be upon you, you and your sister. I have very much to teach you both." At the mention of Myrcella, Davina's brows rose in disbelief. "It is in the blood, my dear," she claimed. "It's the nature of what we are, wouldn't you agree?" she asked rhetorically. "Now, I'm afraid there is nothing else to reveal. I have told you all I am able...just know that, even in your darkest hours, Maggy watches over you." As the words left her mouth, Davina swore she could see a hint of motherly love for her in the depths of the woman's eyes, but before she could question her further, the witch waves her hand, and her vision turned to black.

 _"Beware of her,"_ a voice whispered as she felt herself being swept away, and she knew Maggy had aided her in returning to her body. She just wished Maggy had been more specific in her warning.

* * *

She was lying in bed the mid-morning after when there came a soft, but firm, wrap on the door of her solar. Early that morning, while the moon had still hung high in the night sky, her moon's blood had arrived, and though she should've been expecting it, with everything that had happened since her last, it had caught her off guard.

Not wanting to alarm Jaime - whom Robert had apparently appointed as her personal guard the night before - she'd remained in bed and slipped back into a rather fitful sleep, only to be woken a few hours later by her ladies, feeling as though a blacksmith had taken a hammer to her temple. They'd attempted to coax her out of bed, but then her pains had begun, and she'd resigned herself to a day in bed, sending them to inform her mother before allowing them a day of freedom.

Cersei had come to her then, and if Davina doubted her mother harbored any ill will or animosity towards her, it was erased the moment she had come bearing warm towels and milk of the poppy from Pycelle's own stock.

She'd been in and out of sleep ever since, only coming to at the sound of someone outside her chambers. She groaned at the interruption as Jaime stood from the table where he sat with Cersei to see who it was. She closed her eyes, snuggling back into her pillows, knowing that Jaime would turn away whoever it was so she could return to dreaming of the children Maggy had promised her she would bear.

In her mind's eye, she could see her eldest, dark-haired, grey-eyed son, with his father's chiseled features and the very crease between his brows Cersei claimed Jaime had given her. The boy was Stark through and through with only the slightest hint of Lannister, just as she'd always envisioned he would. He was the spitting image of his father, and it made Davina long for him even more - to carry and nurture him within her, to instill wisdom as he grew, to watch Kol teach him archery as Jaime instructed him with a sword, to witness him growing into the King he was meant to be.

As the bed dipped slightly under the weight of someone sitting on it, she released a sigh before turning onto her back, fully prepared to put on a good face for the King as he was the only one she'd imagined Jaime would allow in to see her with virtually no argument, only to smile in surprise upon finding her favored pair of amber eyes stared down on her.

"Hi," she murmured quietly, pleasantly surprised to find he'd sought her out of his volition, yet somehow she wasn't entirely shocked either. He returned her smile with a gentle, kind one of his own as he reached out and brushed a few bronze waves off her forehead.

"How are you feeling?" he asked honestly, his thumb lingering on her temple, absentmindedly rubbing feather-light circles there, easing the pounding in her head slightly. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes as she released a relaxed sigh.

"Better now that you're here," she replied with equal honesty before she opened them again and fixed him with a weak frown. "How did you know?"

"Your father invited mine and myself to break our fast with him. I assumed you would be there as well to make up for last night, but when I arrived and found you wouldn't be joining us due to feeling ill, I remembered what you said in your letters about how terrible your moon's blood made you feel, and I knew you would be here." Not for the first time, she wondered why the gods had smiled on her in such a way by giving him to her. No matter what he said or how fervently he argued otherwise, she did not and would never deserve such devotion.

"What did he wish to discuss with you?" she asked curiously, shifting slightly to ease the ache in her belly, wincing as she did so. He returned to massaging her temple at her expression reflexively, almost as if it were a natural reaction.

"What he meant to broach last night before we were ever so rudely interrupted," he responded with a sly, knowing smile, one that made her sit up a little straighter as she could clearly see the mischief swirling in the mahogany depths of his eyes. Before she could even speak the words, he nodded, affirming that he, Robert, and Ned had discussed the subject of their wedding as his smile widened.

He released a happy, nervous laugh as he looked down and intertwined their hands, interlocking their fingers together effortlessly before finally meeting her eyes with his own watery ones.

"The King was kind enough to inform me he stayed up half the night to personally invite all of the Great Houses to witness our wedding a fortnight from now." She laid in stunned silence for a few moments before she felt a wetness on her cheeks, and with a start, she realized she was crying. She moved to wipe the tears away when Kol stopped her before doing so himself.

"I can't believe it's really happening," she murmured shakily, feeling the need to explain herself even though he more than likely knew without her saying it aloud. "I've wanted to be your wife for so long, I just...I guess I never truly allowed myself to give in to hope, even after our fathers agreed to it, there was always this part of me that feared it would be ripped away before it would actually..." she trailed off as he caressed her cheek knowingly, again reading her as only one half could the other.

Finally, after an innumerable amount of time, he finally sighed before moving to stand. "I promised your brother I would spend some time with he and his cat this afternoon."

"Tommen actually persuaded you to..." she trailed off with a laugh as the image of her youngest brother innocently requesting to spend some time with his soon to be good-brother flashed before her eyes. Though her mother had done her absolute best to keep Myrcella and Tommen away from the Starks, both seemed drawn a certain one in particular. In Myrcella's case, it was Arya, and in Tommen's, it was Kol. Davina liked to think that Tommen would look to Kol more than he would Robert or Joffrey in the years to come, and it gave her comfort.

"He can be quite persuasive when he wishes to be...much like someone else I know," he replied slyly, now standing though their hands were still intertwined. She hummed in agreement before glancing down at them.

"When is he expecting you?" He glanced out to her balcony for a moment.

"We had agreed on midday." She too glanced out at the morning sun before glancing down bashfully.

"Seeing as how it is still mid-morning...would you mind staying here with me, just a while longer?" she asked hesitantly. He smiled softly before nodding and returning to his place at her side, allowing her to pull him down next to her as she rolled onto her side. Kol followed her, lining his front to her back as she nestled into the pillows once more, his scent surrounding her this time, causing her to smile as his hand came to gently press against her belly, and to her surprise, his touch eased her pains. "I've always slept better with you near anyways," she admitted softly.

He hummed in agreement, pressing a kiss to her crown. "Sleep, Davina, and dream of our son," he whispered knowingly, telling her that he too had at least had a vision of the prophecy Maggy had spoken of.

This time she drifted into a peaceful slumber filled with images of Kol holding their son close to him, whispering of his love for him.

* * *

"A gift from your grandfather, Princess," the servant said as he set a wooden box on the table. Near a fortnight had passed since Kol's return and, true to his word, Robert had immediately set about arranging their wedding, especially considering yet another attempt had been made on her life after she'd refused to become Viserys' Queen. Now, it was the day before their wedding, and they were seated at opposing tables deep within the gardens of the Red Keep, surrounded by their families, as they partook in a mid-morning feast where they exchanged wedding gifts.

Traditionally, said feast would be held the morning of their wedding, with the bride and groom being separated, but Davina had begged Robert to forgo it in favor of being able to see Kol's face when she presented him with her present, and he'd not so reluctantly agreed.

As the servant began to open the box, Davina found she could truly care less what artificial, unthoughtful gift her grandfather had sent her. He hadn't even bothered to make the journey from Casterly Rock to see his eldest grandchild wed when a fortnight was plenty of time to make the easy trek on the Kingsroad. Upon seeing his gift - a beautiful, stunning gold ring with a large ruby inlaid in it's face - she was glad he had chosen not to come. While it was a gorgeous piece, it was definitely not her style and proved that he had hardly put any thought into it.

She smiled to hide her displeasure, fooling everyone except Kol, Cersei and Jaime, as she readily proclaimed her grandfather's graciousness and thanked him for it even though he wasn't there. The servant bowed and retreated, and as Davina relaxed, silently stewing with hatred for perhaps her only grandfather, she felt Cersei grasp her hand tightly under the table and lean in so she could whisper in her ear.

"I would suggest you try a bit harder to hide your disinterest." Davina said nothing while she watched as Ned presented his son with a freshly carved wooden bow accented in silver - a fine work of art Lord Stark had no doubt spent hours designing - and Kol as he excitedly accepted the gift with a wide, genuine smile. She ignored her mother, choosing instead to return Kol's look of happiness when he glanced her way.

Unlike Tywin's gift, Ned had obviously thought long and hard about his son's hobbies and passions, and it clearly showed. Kol would put the weapon to good use, she just hoped he wouldn't have to use it too much.

A squire walked over then with a large book and set it before her, beside her, she heard her father scoff at the gift, but she immediately knew who had sent it to her.

 _"The Lives of Four Queens_ , Your Grace," the servant said, and before the title of the book was out of his mouth, she'd stood from her seat and walked around the table in order to inspect the gift firsthand rather than have a servant boy try and ineloquently describe such a fitting present. She carefully picked up the rather large book, studying the spine with gentle, reverent hands.

" _Good Queen Alysanne, The Sister Queens Rhaenys and Visenya, and The Half-Year Queen,"_ she read aloud, though her voice remained barely above a whisper before she opened it, revealing a handwritten inscription inside.

 _Favored Niece,_

 _My deepest apologies for my inability to attend your wedding, but I suspect with your husband to be distracting you, my absence will barely be noted. I wish for both you and Kol to have a long, prosperous union filled with many children, as I know the love you bear one another will ultimately result in many sons and daughters. Please accept this gift as a measly display of gratitude for the compassion and respect you've shown me when others would not. Your mother might not be willing to admit it, but you were born to sit on the throne of your father and forefathers before him - you are in the possession of Targaryen blood, after all - and will be the greatest Queen the known world has ever seen. I found myself thinking of you whilst reading about Rhaenyra Targaryen and thought you might enjoy it as well, though I pray you take her sad tale to heart and do not fall into the same pitfalls she did._

 _You must have at least one goblet of wine at your wedding feast for me, none of this hating spirits business on your wedding day._

 _Deepest Regards,_

 _Uncle Tyrion_

She smiled widely while shaking her head in amusement. He had been the one to awake her thirst for knowledge and love of reading when she'd been a young girl of four. Traditionally, it was looked down upon for a lady to enjoy such activities, but Tyrion had encouraged her at every turn, helping her with words she didn't understand and elaborating on the tales she read about, making the stories come to life in her mind's eye.

"As soon as I am able, I will send a raven to Castle Black in order to thank my Uncle Tyrion personally for this wonderful, thoughtful gift," she told the servant boy. While Tywin had given her something invaluable, Tyrion had gone above and beyond by gifting her something that would serve both she and whatever daughters she and Kol would have in the years to come. By telling them tales of these brave queens, whom they did in fact descend from since Robert's grandmother was of Targaryen blood, she could teach them not to bow to men simply because they were women.

If she and Kol were to have a daughter as their first born, even though Maggy had foretold a son, neither would hesitate to name her their heir, and that would not change even if they had a dozen sons after her. Tyrion's gift had the ability to impact the future of all Seven Kingdoms, and that was of more worth than some shiny stone.

The servant nodded before taking back the book in order to make more room for whatever other gifts she was presented with.

Beside her, she felt Robert begin to stand, but before he was able thanks to his cumbersome figure, Jaime had already laid a long object wrapped in plain brown cloth on the table in front of her. Knowing Jaime was finally gifting her with a sword - as she had begged for from the day she'd first managed to disarm him - she stood with a wide smile and quickly returned to where she'd been only moments before while examining Tyrion's gift.

She watched silently as he carefully unfolded the cloth covering her new blade, already worrying over what to call it, for all great blades had names, only to have her mouth fall open as he revealed a scabbard of solid gold and a magnificent hilt, also crafted of pure gold. A lion's head formed the pommel and a ruby as crimson as blood sat in the lion's opened maw. The cross guard's edges were shaped into paws with claws fully extended, ready for battle, while a much larger, diamond shaped ruby sat in it's center.

As Jaime handed it to her, she took it into her grasp carefully, still enraptured by it's beauty. It was unlike any blade she'd ever seen before. Upon taking it in her hands, she swore she felt magic swirl within the blade at her touch, almost as if it was calling to the magic that resided within her. She frowned at the foreign sensation, so similar yet completely different from how she and Kol's magic reacted to each other.

She and Kol's would spend a moment fighting for dominance before melding together endlessly, rendering it impossible to determine where her's ended and his began. As she gripped the hilt of the sword, however, it had felt as though the blade had merely become an extension of her arm, bonding with her magic, but never mixing.

Her curiosity piqued, she grasped the scabbard and unsheathed it, the sound of ringing steel echoing around the gardens as all eyes of both she and Kol's families remained on her. As she examined the blade, the steel itself caught her eye, and she narrowed them as she studied the distinctive ripple patterns littered throughout the metal. She'd never seen a blade with such texture, only read about such things in books of Old Valyria before the Doom, and...

With a start, she realized she wasn't holding a blade forged of common steel, but of Valyrian steel. Her mouth fell open as if she wished to form words, but none came out. She was quite unable to form a complete thought at the moment, let alone a decently structured sentence.

In one of the many books Tyrion had aided her in reading as a child, she'd read about blades made of this very special, extraordinarily rare form of metal, forged in and named after House Targaryen's homeland of Valyria, before it had been destroyed in the Doom. To this day, no one had ever recorded what exactly had occurred, just that it had been a cataclysm of unspecified nature that had caused the collapse of the Valyrian Freehold approximately a century before Aegon the Conqueror had made landfall in Westeros, forming the Seven Kingdoms and bringing them to heel under Targaryen rule.

Countless vital artifacts had been lost in the Doom, among which included spells and recorded history, as well as the knowledge of how to forge Valyrian Steel, which was considerably lighter than normal steel, but also much stronger and sharper, making it highly sought after and valued by many.

She'd read once that an Archmaester had surmised at one point there had been as many as just over two hundred known Valyrian steel weapons in the known world after the Doom, though many of those had been lost or vanished from historical record altogether.

Reforging Valyrian steel was still possible, though there were only a handful of blacksmiths that knew how to perform it. Whispers of magic having been used in it's forging were common folklore, but as she held it in her palms, she knew it to be true.

She also knew this had not been melted down and reforged, but remained in it's original setting and form. Regardless, she glanced up to meet Jaime's identical emerald eyes, seeking confirmation that this was in fact the blade she believed it to be, releasing a breath as he nodded in assent.

The famed blade of her House, lost when her ancestor, King Tommen II Lannister had sailed to Valyria and never returned, a blade her grandfather had spent a great deal of his time and money trying to find, the one her Great Uncle Gerion had set sail years before to find, but had never returned.

" _Brightroar,_ " she said quietly, though the garden was quiet enough for all to hear her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother straighten in shock, as Joffrey's expression hardened considerably. She could feel Jaime's eyes on her as she gripped the hilt tighter until she was sure the decorative 'L' carved into the underside of the hilt would be forever imprinted in her palm.

"How's the balance?" he asked with a barely concealed, prideful smile, and she knew he was looking on her as she'd once dreamed Robert would, but never had - like a father watching his first born. "Is it to your liking?"

Swallowing back the emotion that welled in her throat at the fatherly devotion shining in his eyes, she weighed it in her hands before taking a step back and allowed her wrist to rotate backwards, finding it lighter than even the sparring swords she and Jaime often used in her lessons.

"It feels...it feels like it was made for me," she responded honestly, shocked at how right it truly felt.

"Good," he said with a slight chuckle that caused her to refocus the majority of her attention on him once more. "Because it's yours."

The disapproving, pompous glare of her grandfather immediately sprung to mind, and she shook her head, holding it out for him to take back, much to his obvious confusion.

"Grandfather should have it," she said in explanation. Until she was Queen, she had no desire to thwart or anger the Great Tywin Lannister, even if it killed her to give back the best gift she'd ever received. "He's been searching for it for far too long for you to give it to me...he'll have more use for it-" She stopped abruptly as he stepped forward and used his hand upon her own to tighten her grip on the hilt of it.

"He's already given it to me...and now I am giving it to you," he said softly, and she felt tears well in her eyes anew at the gentleness in his voice she doubted he showed to anyone, even her mother. It spoke of the special, unique bond they shared, and while she could feel her mother's glare boring into her, she found she could care less as she and Jaime embraced tightly. To most, it was an uncle embracing his niece, but to her - and to Jaime as well surely - it was a father bestowing his daughter with affection on the eve of her wedding.

As she pulled away, Kol caught her eye and gave her a soft, meaningful smile, which she returned easily. Her eyes shifted to Ned, who was seated beside his son with Sansa and Arya on the other side of him, and she felt a pit form in her stomach as his own grey eyes narrowed suspiciously on she and Jaime. She took two steps back instinctively, hoping that he had been the only one to suspect of something deeper existing between them, before Jaime presented her with yet another gift to accompany Brightroar - a sword belt crafted with the ability to be fastened about her waist no matter if she wore a gown or breeches.

Whilst in the middle of thanking him, yet again, the King stood and motioned for a servant to fetch his present to her. As he made his way around the table to her, she silently thanked Jaime once more with a smile before he returned to his seat, leaving Brightroar fastened around her waist, where she intended to keep it every waking moment from then on.

She turned to meet Robert with her left hand resting on Brightroar's hilt as if it'd been there her entire life. Her kingly father noticed this, and though he chuckled, he said nothing, choosing instead to wrap his large, meaty hand around her shoulders and direct her towards the servant, who was just pulling a cloth off an object about her height. As said cloth fell to the cobbled stone of the gardens, it revealed a suit of armor unlike any she'd seen before.

The armor itself was deep, metallic gray bordering on black, with golden accents littered throughout, including the detailing on the breastplate, which was her personal sigil - a lioness bearing antlers with a crown adorning it's neck. She stepped forward and laid her hand across it in awe, feeling the expert craftsmanship of her sigil imprinting itself in her palm.

"I hope I got your measurements right," she heard him say, and she nodded half heartedly in agreement as she continued to study it. It wasn't the traditional, complete suit one would image when you thought of such a thing, for there was no mail or metal protecting her from blows directed between her mid-upper arm or her upper thighs to just below her knees, but she found she preferred it that way. This armor was made for someone quick on their feet and agile - mail and the extra armament would only wear her down faster since she was of smaller build than most.

"It's perfect," she said quietly as a smile began to slowly spread across her features.

"A fighter as talented as you should have the armor to match. I spent hours with the smith getting all the details just right." She felt him step up beside her before cupping her cheek, and the fatherly gesture shocked her so greatly, she turned to him with wide, vulnerable eyes. In all her life, they had never truly embraced, nor had he ever bestowed any physical affection on her whatsoever. "There could be no better gift for a warrior princess."

There was nothing feigned or practiced about the wetness that coated her cheeks at his words, and she impulsively wrapped her arms around him in response. He smelled of spirits and sweat, and she found it was much more natural to wind her arms around Jaime's slimmer, more athletic figure, but she decided that, no matter how awkward it felt, or how guilty it made her feel considering Jaime was only a few paces away, it served its purpose.

She could tell her sudden affection shocked him, but after a moment, he awkwardly draped one arm around her shoulders and gave them a solid pat before they both drew away, with her expressing her gratitude quietly. He smiled in response - a genuine, real, sober one that had nothing to do with wine - before he returned to his seat next to her currently empty one.

Her Uncle Renly, Robert's youngest brother, had already gifted her with several stunning fabrics that she could have made into multiple gowns earlier. Of her father's brothers, Renly was her absolute favorite. Stannis was too serious for her, always had been, and preferred the solitude of Dragonstone - the Targaryen family seat before Aegon had taken the rest of Westeros and forged the Iron Throne - where he resided with his wife and daughter, Shireen, who was about 'Cella's age. He, unsurprisingly, had opted to remain in Dragonstone rather than make the short route down to King's Landing on one of his many ships, but Davina preferred it that way, though she had not seen Shireen in a number of years and missed her terribly.

She instructed the servant boy to take her new armor up to her solar while, out of the corner of her eye, Davina saw Ned hand Kol a folded piece of parchment that bore the Tully sigil - a trout leaping above the waves of the Trident - and she turned her full attention on the two as his father informed him that, while his grandfather, Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, had been physically unable to attend because of a lingering sickness that had rendered him bedridden, he had sent a raven with a gift for him.

She studied her future husband's demeanor closely as he carefully broke his grandfather's seal and unfolded it, his eyes scanning through it's contents once, twice, three times before he glanced to Ned in confusion. Ned only offered his son a soft, reassuring smile in return, and Kol released a deep breath before collapsing against the back of his chair, eyes fixated on the parchment in his hands.

"Kol?" she asked out of concern, and though it took a few moments for his eyes to meet hers, when they finally did, she knew something incredible had happened, for beneath the shock there was a flicker of joy, amazement, and disbelief. "What did your grandfather say?" she asked curiously, walking over to stand beside him as he silently handed her the letter with a barely concealed smile.

As her eyes ran over the slightly messy scribbling of his grandfather, her arm fell to his shoulder while his opposite one wound itself around her waist, his expression now beaming with pride as he heard her slight intake of breath as she reached it's end.

Hoster Tully, Catelyn's father, had written to his grandson to congratulate him on his wedding and apologize for his absence. She was sure Kol hadn't cared one way or another if Lord Hoster attended, seeing as how he'd only met him once or twice in person and wasn't particularly close with the members of his mother's House as he was with Benjen Stark, and she couldn't blame him for that.

His mother's younger sister, Lysa, who had wed the late Jon Arryn in order to join the Riverlands with the Eyrie during Robert's Rebellion, was a terribly strange, neurotic woman that Davina had tried her best to avoid at all cost before she'd fled back to the Eyrie with she and Lord Arryn's only child - a son about Tommen's age, named Robin, Kol's only cousin.

Cersei had never allowed Tommen or Myrcella to play with young Robin, mainly because of how fervently she disliked Lysa, and in this, Davina agreed with her mother wholeheartedly. The woman's mind was not entirely sound, and she coddled Robin much more than Cersei ever had Joffrey, if such a thing was even possible.

Edmure Tully, Catelyn and Lysa's younger brother, Lord Hoster's only son, still remained unmarried despite his father's numerous attempts, leaving Riverrun and the future of the Riverlands on uneven footing...until now.

It seemed that Lord Hoster had grown tired and impatient with his son's clear disregard for their House's social standing and had instead endeavored to name a new heir.

And he had chosen Kol.

No longer was he a second son, a spare in case the worst happened to Robb and he was forced to step in as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, as Ned had when the Mad King Aerys had burned Brandon alive. Now, he would one day inherit his own lordship and title that had absolutely nothing to do with their marriage and everything to do with the blood that ran through his veins - Stark _and_ Tully.

Kol's succession did have a singular condition - he must have an heir before Edmure - but she didn't think it was even possible for Edmure to have a legitimate heir before their son was born if Maggy had told her the truth, which Davina entirely believed she had.

She smiled widely, reaching the hand that had been resting on his shoulder to gently delve into the soft hair at his crown, as she continued to read the words over and over in her mind.

"Kol of Houses Stark and Tully, First of His Name, Lord Paramount of the Trident, Lord of Riverrun, The Scaled Wolf," she finished thoughtfully, knowing Maggy referring to him as such had been alluding to the duality of his familial allegiances. After a moment, she set the letter down on the table in front of them and turned to look down into the warmth of his amber eyes.

"I'm happy for you, truly," she said with a grin whilst lightly massaging his scalp. "You deserve something that inspires you, something that causes your heart to race," she murmured honestly. He frowned at her words, grasping her by the wrist and lowering her hand so she could feel his heart beating in his chest.

"I already do, and it's you, Davina. My heart beats for you, and you _alone_. It has ever since the first moment I saw you hiding behind your mother's skirts. I don't need a title or a lordship to be happy...all I need is you." He accentuated his words by lifting her hand to his lips and bestowing a kiss on it's back, and she responded by titling his chin up and joining her lips with his immediately afterwards.

This kiss was innocent and chaste in nature, nothing like the ones they'd shared in the week prior. After Davina's moon's blood had come and gone, she'd endeavored to throw herself into planning whatever details she was able, namely the design of her dress and the location of the wedding feast afterwards. She'd spent at least an hour or two a day with Kol, taking a stroll through the gardens or simply partaking in a lighthearted game of cyvasse that by the end was taken entirely serious by both.

Tyrion had introduced she and Myrcella to the Essosi game only a year prior, and while she was still learning how to master it, Cella had taken to it naturally and could beat any man in King's Landing, even Tyrion. The two of them had spent the week instructing Kol on the rules so that they might play together, and the day before he had nearly beaten Davina in their daily match, much to Myrcella's amusement.

Throughout each day, they'd plot when and where they would meet, away from chaperones and prying eyes, so that they might have just a few precious moments to themselves. Cersei had striven to keep eyes on the two at all times, whether they be her own, Jaime's, or any of her handmaidens mattered not. Davina understood why Cersei was so adamant the two not be left alone, for she and Kol had come close to throwing caution to the wind several times in favor of a union both had dreamed of for many years.

If Davina weren't so determined to be Queen one day and bear a legitimate heir, she might have allowed Kol to take her while pressed against the large oak hidden away deep in the gardens, or in any of the innumerable, shadow-filled corners of the Red Keep. But if she any had hope of ever succeeding Robert, she needed to remain the pure and innocent flower she was painting herself to be, and thankfully, Kol understood that. A lesser man might've grown angry at her constant resistance, or even endeavored to take what he believed he was owed before the time was right, but Kol was different.

Not only did he listen to her whenever she reminded him they had to stop, but he, too, would pull away when she was far too gone to care whether he took her maidenhead right then or not, and while sometimes she would grow frustrated and storm away, she loved him all the more for it.

Upon pulling away, she pressed her forehead to his, sending a silent prayer to both her gods and his that their son would have all of his father's nature, charm, wit, and heart, while the only Lannister trait he inherited was cleverness.

"I have a gift for you," she murmured quietly after several moments, finally opening her eyes so that she could look into his once more. Seemingly taken aback at this, he looked on her with mock suspicion. "You didn't expect me to simply not give you a present, did you?"

"Davina, you didn't have-" she stopped him with a clipped laugh and a shake of her head.

"I know I didn't have to...but I wanted to, so I did." She back away, using their intertwined hands to pull him to his feet as she nodded to a stable boy, who bowed before disappearing around the corner to fetch his gift.

She'd known for quite some time what her gift of choice for Kol would be, though she'd always been unsure whether or not she'd be able to get it. Taking a chance, she'd sent a raven to Prince Doran Martell, the penultimate figure in Dorne, kindly asking if he could spare one of his best Dornish colts for her future husband. She'd been on edge for days, wondering if their Houses' steadfast hatred of one another would affect the outcome, only to have her worries allayed when he responded with an emphatic yes.

A week later, only a few days before, said colt had arrived on a ship from Sunspear, and had quickly and quietly been ushered into the stables, out of sight. On the rare, fleeting chances she'd gotten to evade both her mother and Kol, she'd journeyed down to the stables in order to take stock of him.

His coat was as red as the crimson color of their maternal Houses, with a slender streak of white starting between his eyes and tapering off near his nose. He was already impressive, his size unusual for the breed, which tended to fare on the smaller side, like Rose, though he was only on the verge of maturity. Every time she looked into his eyes, she could see an intelligence there not unlike Rose's, and she dared to dream they would get on fantastically, so much so that, perhaps, one day when Davina's children were older, Rose might bear a little colt or filly for each of them, fathered by their father's stunning red stallion.

As the stable boy led him out, the colt's eyes darted from person to person, absorbing his surroundings anxiously. Davina released Kol's hand and immediately took hold of the colt's halter, stroking him soothingly between the eyes before slowly and reassuringly leading him over to Kol.

"A gift from Prince Doran Martell," she said with a smile as Kol gently laid a hand on the colt's forehead. At the touch, the colt calmed and looked into Kol's amber eyes, and in that moment, Davina knew the two would be as close as she and Rose were.

After a moment, Kol turned to her, slightly bewildered, with an ever widening grin of his own spreading across his lips. "He's magnificent." _A stallion befitting a King,_ she thought.

"What shall you name him?" she asked, and he thought for a moment, studying the creature's eyes once more before he came to a decision.

"Balerion." Named after Aegon the Conqueror's dragon, also known in songs as _The Black Dread_. He had been the largest Targaryen dragon, with a wingspan so vast, entire towns would disappear in his shadow as he passed over them. It was even said his teeth were as long as swords and his jaws were wide enough to swallow horsed knights whole.

"A fine name," she agreed, combing her fingers through his mane. "Balerion, _the Red Death_ ," she proclaimed, grinning as the colt threw his head a bit at it, clearly pleased with his new name. "A stallion fit for a King," she murmured so that Kol was the only one to hear her. He offered her his special smile in response just as her father called her over to him.

Reluctantly, she tore herself away from her husband-to-be and made her way over to her father, taking a folded piece of parchment from his hands as he held it out to her with barely concealed confusion.

"Open it," he bid upon seeing her expression, and as she unfolded it, he began reading it's contents by heart.

"From this day until your last, you will be known as Davina of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, First of Her Name, Crown Princess of the Andals and the First Men, the Bold, the Undying, _Lady of Storm's End, Lady Paramount of the Stormlands, and Warden of the East_." As Robert said the words, she dropped to her knees at his feet, out of both shock and respect. He was not only giving her the Baratheon ancestral seat, but he was proclaiming her his heir in the South. Surely this meant the Iron Throne would be given to her instead of Joffrey.

Her brother could have Casterly Rock and the West for all she cared. Technically, since Jaime had given up his right as Tywin's heir upon entering the Kingsguard, Tyrion should've been the heir to both the Rock and the Westerlands, but Davina knew her grandfather would never willingly allow that to happen. It was entirely likely that, if Joffrey weren't named Robert's successor, Tywin would make him his in order to keep it from Tyrion.

"I...I am honoured, Your Grace, but I'm afraid I am unworthy. Surely Uncle Stannis-"

"Oh, piss on Stannis!" he exclaimed. "He would rather live out the rest of his days on that god forsaken island than ever return to the place of his birth," he said in disgust before his eyes returned to her as hers - that had been downcast - rose to meet his. "Mark my words, Davina, you shall be the greatest of us all. As my Warden of the East, you shall sit on the Small Council at my side as an Advisor."

She would be the first appointed female member of the Small Council in known history. Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Half-Year Queen, had sat on her father's, but that had been because Jaehaerys had been grooming her as his heir, seeing as how she had been his only child. No woman had actually been given a legitimate position before, much less become one of the four Wardens.

As Ned Stark was Warden of the North, Tywin Lannister of the West, and Mace Tyrell of the South, she would join their ranks. She would be responsible for the East in the event of a foreign invasion. All militia in the East would look to her for guidance if such a thing were to ever happen. Now, the King's gift suddenly made perfect sense.

Robert extended his hand and she took it without looking away. In her periphery, she saw Joffrey stand and storm out of the gardens, but she paid him no mind. He could continue to try and show his displeasure in dramatic, sweeping displays of immaturity all he liked. All he was doing was helping her cause.

She stood to her feet, looking every inch a queen, before glancing over her shoulder in order to meet Kol's eyes. She found them to be brimming with pride, and it caused her stance to take on even more of a regal air in response. Now they would have titles to give to their eldest two sons, possibly even three, not just their eldest.

Their eldest, the Born King, would have the Iron Throne, their second, the Red Wolf, would have The Trident, and their third would have Storm's End. Perhaps their youngest would even assume Jaime's position as Lord Commander when he passed on.

Her children, a King, Lord Paramount of the Trident, Warden of the East, and Lord Commander. She smiled at the thought. With children such as those, she'd undoubtedly be remembered as the greatest Queen to have ever lived, and she'd be damned if she let such a beautiful future slip through her fingers.

She swore to herself then and there that no one would steal it from her.

* * *

The sun had set by the time Davina finally managed to make it back to her solar. Kol had spirited her away to a secluded spot on the beach, where they'd spent the entire afternoon in the sun, simply enjoying each other's company. They bantered, made jokes, and planned the names of their future children under the light of the sun as it'd risen and then sank in the sky.

She had been surprised that Cersei had not sent Jaime out searching for them, but she was grateful she hadn't. After Jaime and Robert's gifts, as well as Kol's from his grandfather, she needed some time to process all that had taken place. Part of her still couldn't believe it had actually happened, and Kol was right there with her.

At one point, as the stars had begun to appear in the waning light of day, he'd turned to her and asked if Robert named Joffrey his heir and successor, if Joffrey sat the throne instead of her, would she be content with being the Lady of Riverrun and the Trident. If she would willingly leave King's Landing and live at Riverrun with him. While she didn't like to consider the possibility of having to bow to her younger brother, she would follow Kol anywhere, and she'd told him so.

King's Landing wasn't her home, he was.

 _Besides,_ she'd said, _our son will be King at the very most, and Lord of the Trident at the very least. I doubt there are many mothers who can claim such a thing._ Kol had laughed, clearly relieved that she would be open to the possibility, and honestly, if Joffrey did end up with the crown, she wished to be as far away from his court as possible.

She'd planned on returning to Winterfell with Kol if Joff became King, safely out of his immediate grasp, but she supposed Riverrun would be as good a place as any, especially considering how heavily fortified it could become if the need ever arose. With it's high walls and deeply dug moat, the castle was practically an island in and of itself, able to ward off sieges and wait out invaders as long as there was an ample supply of food and water.

She'd also reminded him that, if she did become Queen, their firstborn, their son, the _Born King_ as Maggy had called him, would sit the Iron Throne, leaving Riverrun for their next boy, which Davina believed to be the _Red Wolf_. Based off what the witch had told her, she believed she would have four sons, each ranging in familial Stark, Lannister, and Tully traits, and a daughter who sounded to be purely Lannister.

She was all for having a little girl with all of her mother's beauty, as long as she received none of her nature, not unlike Myrcella.

 _If our daughter turns out much like 'Cella, I will be in the gods' debt forever,_ Davina thought as she opened her door and sidled into her room, surprised that Jaime was not waiting for her outside with a knowing, mischievous smirk playing across his mouth. Her ladies were suspiciously absent as well, though she had given them the day after they'd helped her prepare for the the small feast that morning.

They had probably already retired, knowing she wouldn't begrudge them for it, but had graciously lit a few of her candles before taking their leave so she wouldn't be stumbling around in the dark, and for that she was thankful.

She closed her door quietly, hoping that, for tonight, she would be left to her own devices, but when she turned, she was met with the sight of her sister curled up on her bed, her beautiful Lannister eyes red with tears.

"Cella?" she asked panickedly, immediately going to her side and dropping down beside her on the bed. "Cella, what is it?" She reached down and smoothed a few blonde waves back behind her baby sister's ear, and Myrcella sniffled, but said nothing. Davina felt a sharp pang rip through her at the sound, and knew that whatever had upset her would've had to have been substantial. Myrcella was not prone to drama as Joffrey was.

"I heard them," she finally whimpered quietly, her breath hitching at the admission. "He said he was the one who pushed Bran." Davina felt her heart sink at her sister's words. She knew who Cella had heard without having to ask, but she needed to hear her say it. If it continued to go unsaid, Davina feared she would convince herself otherwise, as she nearly had before overhearing them the day of Jon Arryn's wake.

"Who did you hear, Cella?" she asked, gritting her teeth after the words had left her mouth, fighting the urge to bite her own tongue as Myrcella released a sob before regaining a sliver of her composure.

"Uncle Jaime did it," she murmured softly, clearly horrified. "And Mother knows. They were together when he did, and it was to make sure Bran never spoke of what he saw...but he's awake now. Mother sounded worried that he would tell on them." She went on to tell her how she'd heard the entire thing while crouched outside Cersei's door - how Jaime had claimed he would go to war with the King over Bran's claims if he had to, saying that the singers could write a ballad about them, _The War For Cersei's Cunt_ , he'd called it, before the sound of her mother firmly striking him across the cheek had sent the horrified young lioness running.

As Myrcella finished her tale, she squeezed her eyes shut and trembled once more before she finally met her sister's eyes, and in that moment, Davina knew she had failed to protect her from the one secret she knew could destroy her. From what she'd told Davina, nothing had been said explicitly about the nature of Cersei and Jaime's relations, but Myrcella was a brilliant, intelligent child, who had clearly been able to decipher what had not been said as clearly as she'd comprehended what had been.

"Is Jaime my father?" she asked hesitantly, and Davina looked down and nodded, unable to see the innocent light in her sister's eyes die, murdered by the very two people who were supposed to protect it for as long as possible. "That's what you discovered before we rode to Winterfell, isn't it?" she said slowly, putting together all of the pieces of the puzzle with ease. "That's why you and Mother have been fighting."

"Lord Arryn put the pieces together and came to me, but that's not why I'm angry with her," she responded, spinning the ring Kol had given her around on her finger absently. She heard and felt more than saw Cella sit up.

"Did... did they...?" Myrcella asked hesitantly, and while Davina hated admitting it, she found she was unwilling to lie to her any further. Jaime and Cersei had seen to that themselves.

"I think so. I think Mother poisoned him to keep him from telling the King," was all she could say, but it was sufficient enough to stun her golden sister into silence. She leaned back against Davina's headboard with a heavy sigh, tears welling in her eyes anew. Finally, after what felt like an eternity without either saying anything, the younger of the two finally turned emerald green eyes on her sister.

"Is that why you reached for the throne?" she questioned. "Because Joffrey, Tommen, and I are bastards?" Davina frowned, quickly glancing up to meet her eyes, finding her cheeks damp once more. It dawned on her then that Myrcella clearly believed Davina to be the only legitimate child in their mother and legal father's marriage, and she shook her head vigorously, wanting to banish whatever venomous notions were creeping into her sister's mind.

"No, of course not," she swore, cupping Myrcella's cheek so that their eyes met, green with green, Lannister with Lannister. "I wish to keep Joff and his cruelty away from it. I wish to better the Realm. 'Cella, when I look at you and Tommen, I don't see bastards. You are my sister, and he is my brother - I would give my life for either of yours without question. I could care less who fathered you." She blinked back tears. "Truthfully, not even Mother knows who my father is," she admitted quietly. She saw understanding pass across her sister's features at the admission before Cella wrapped her arms around Davina's shoulders and buried her head in the column of her throat.

For the first time in several moons, Davina allowed herself to fall apart in the safety of her younger sister's arms. She hadn't realized how much the knowledge of their mother and uncle's torrid, ongoing affair and their illegitimacy still tore at her until she'd seen the pity in Myrcella's eyes for her, and while she hated it, being the proud lioness she was, she trusted her sister explicitly.

Besides Kol, Myrcella was the only one she could truly trust with her life. She'd once entrusted that to Jaime, but he'd betrayed her as surely as he'd driven his sword into Aerys Targaryen's back. Sometimes, she envisioned his blade going into her's instead - the outcome would be the same. His betrayal did not and could not erase her love for him - that could never change, no matter how hard she fought it, or how desperately she tried to carve out the portion of her heart that belonged to him. He was as irreversibly a part of her as Kol, Myrcella, and Tommen were. To lose him would be to lose a part of herself in the process, and she didn't think she'd ever be ready for it.

"We should tell Tommen," she heard Myrcella mumble into her throat, and her sister's words immediately had her shaking her head in disagreement. Myrcella pulled away at this and fixed her with a hard, determined glare, though the effectiveness of it was lost due to her still reddened eyes. "Davina, we _must_. He deserves to know...It is the _right_ thing to do," she insisted as her sister continued to shake her head.

"No, Myrcella, we can't. The more people know, the more dangerous it is, for all of us - you, me, Tommen, Uncle Jaime, Mother... even our future children could be held responsible, Cella, don't you see?" she asked, brushing back a golden curl, seeing her sister's decency war with her survival instincts.

Lannisters were known to be survivors by acting in their best interest, most often damning those who stood in the way of what they truly desired. Lann the Clever, the founder of House Lannister during the Age of Heroes, had supposedly stolen Casterly Rock out from under the noses of House Casterly, who'd abruptly faded into nothing soon afterwards. Accounts varied on how he'd done so, but all accepted the universal truth that he had outwitted the former lord paramounts of the Westerlands and had taken their seat of power for himself and his descendants.

Tywin himself had not declared for either side during Robert's Rebellion until the overthrow of the Targaryen dynasty was inevitable. Only once Rhaegar had been killed at the Trident and Kol's father had been given the remaining men of the North, Riverlands, Eyrie, and Stormlands, did Tywin arrive at the gates of King's Landing, first pledging his loyalty to the crown in order to gain entry, and then just as swiftly sing a different tune as he ordered the city sacked. By the time Ned Stark had arrived, the Mad King was dead, along with Elia Martell and Rhaegar's children, and Jaime sat upon the throne.

Fleetingly, she wondered what would have happened had Jaime refused to stand when Ned had asked. Would he have been King? What if Robert had succumbed to his wounds? She couldn't help but think Jaime fit the part a thousand times better than her rotund oaf of a father ever had, even in his youth. And what of their mother? Surely Jaime would've found a way to make her his Queen and wed her in front of the gods and everyone. If she thought hard enough, she could even hear the phantom whispers of laughter as Jaime replaced her crimson and gold Lannister cloak for an identical one, could see the smiles on their faces as they were proclaimed man and wife.

She saw her birth, then Joff's, Cella's, and Tommen's, and saw the joy on their faces each time they welcomed a new cub into the world. She could even imagine Jaime giving them all lessons as he had given her, Cersei watching the five of them with immense pride in her green eyes. Perhaps Joffrey might not've become a monster if Jaime had been allowed to be a part of his life, and maybe Tommen would've been a bit stronger, or Cella less shy.

She shut her eyes tightly, wishing that dream world away. No matter how fervently she desired it to be true, it never would be, and there was no use of dwelling on the impossible. "The best thing we can do for Tommen is protect him, and the only way we do that is by keeping this from him, as difficult as that may be." Admittedly, Myrcella and Tommen were closer than she and Tommen were. If things had gone differently, they might've even been born twins, had he not been two years younger, or she two older.

She knew what she was asking of her, and of how unfair it was, but Davina saw no other option. 'Cella was mature enough to understand the risks and know the importance of keeping such a monumental secret, but Tommen was not. He rarely thought before he spoke, so who was to say he wouldn't accidentally reveal something to the wrong person, and it would end with them all losing their heads because of it?

She watched the emotions play across her sister's face before begrudging acceptance finally settled in the depths of her eyes and the crease of her brow. "You are right," she admitted reluctantly before laying back down and staring up at the ceiling with a frown. Davina looked down on her with pity, knowing how heavy of a burden she was now carrying on her slim shoulders, and decided to do her best to see the good in all of this.

So she told her - about her magic, about her visit to Maggy, all of it. Myrcella listened quietly, allowing her sister to finish before a silence settled over them. Finally, after several moments without either saying a word, Myrcella asked her how she had managed to control her magic. Davina had smiled at this, moving to lay down beside her and draw her into her arms. Myrcella went willingly, laying her head on her older sister's chest as Davina held her there steadily.

She told her Qyburn had claimed she needed to find something - whether it be a song, object, memory, or person mattered not - to keep her grounded, tethered to her true self. An _anchor_ , he'd called it. At first, she'd thought of Kol, then Jaime, then Cersei, but nothing worked. It wasn't until she'd thought of Myrcella did the whispers driving her mad cease and the pain that'd rocked through her in steady waves since her flowering abate.

"I'm your anchor?" she'd asked uncertainly, sounding equal bits hopeful and scared. Davina simply smiled before dropping a kiss on her sister's golden crown.

"Of course it was you, 'Cella," she replied quietly as Myrcella nestled into her sister's embrace more at the admission. She was silent for an indeterminable amount of time before she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I think you might be mine, too," she whispered just as her breathing evened out and she fell into a peaceful sleep. Davina smiled before closing her eyes, knowing that, as long as they had one another, they could weather any storm, and joined her sister in sleep.

* * *

Slowly running her hands down her ivory wedding dress, Davina smiled softly as she felt the tiny silver beads that formed wolf heads, barely visible to the naked eye unless one was within a few feet of her. When she'd requested this detail to the seamstress during her fitting only a week prior, she never had imagined the beauty of the finished result.

The gown was something she'd been visualizing in her head for years, and the seamstress had managed to bring every single detail to life, enamoured with her clear infatuation with her future husband as she dictated how she wished for his House's sigil to play a part in the design. Cersei had been present for the fitting, and while she'd not been too pleased with Davina's wish to make House Stark an important aspect of her daughter's wedding day, she remained silent.

Now, as all of her handmaidens filed out, having gushed over her repeatedly for the last half hour, Davina took a deep breath before turning to her mother just as the door closed, silently asking her opinion. Despite having told her mother again and again there was nothing she could do or say that would prevent her from following her heart, she still craved her approval more than any other's.

She twisted the ring Kol had given her in the godswood around her finger agitatedly as her mother studied her appearance.

The dress itself cut straight across at the top, dipping slightly, showing the slightest curve of her breasts as the back acted as the front's mirror. The sleeves were thin and light, resting on her upper arms just so, leaving her shoulders and forearms bare. The skirt flared out softly, outlining her slim but athletic figure perfectly.

Victaria had worked her own form of magic on Davina's hair this time, keeping with her favored style whilst bringing something new to it still in the form of crimson roses, plucked fresh from the gardens of the Red Keep. The circlet her grandfather had given her rested against her forehead, calling attention to the vibrant green of her eyes.

"You look lovely. I'd wager you'll inspire a thousand songs." Despite everything that had transpired between them, her mother's words caused her to flush as red as the crimson of their shared House and she looked down for a moment, her eyes catching on the simple band Kol had given her.

She understood why Cersei was so opposed to her marriage, at least fundamentally. She wished to protect and prevent her from befalling the same fate, and for that, she couldn't help but love her all the more. But Kol was different from Robert. And Rhaegar, for that matter. And any other man in the Seven Kingdoms. She just needed to find a way to make Cersei see that. She had to prove to her mother that Kol was utterly and completely unique - that he legitimately cared for her as fervently as she did him.

She knew her mother thought her foolish for chasing such a childish dream, but it was not she who had done the chasing in the beginning. It had all been him.

 _Flashback - 9 year prior_

 _She looked out across the waters of Blackwater Bay in silence, allowing the sound of the waves below to wash over her, aiding in drowning out the noise of the feast in the great hall. Lord Stark was leaving tomorrow, taking her father with him in order to put down the Greyjoy Rebellion in the North. She should've been overjoyed the King would not be around to torment and abuse her mother, but she found that, no matter how hard she tried to be agreeable to his absence, it meant that Kol would be returning to Winterfell as well, and she found taking pleasure in the knowledge impossible._

 _Despite her misgivings and doubts upon his arrival, during his stay he'd proved to be trustworthy and kind, as well as an ideal companion, the likes of which she'd never experienced before. Who would aid her in pitching apples at Grand Maester Pycelle from the safety of a tree, would spar with her in her lessons with her Uncle Jaime, would chase her about the Red Keep from dawn 'till dusk without tiring? She had enjoyed his company greatly, so much so that she was unsure what tomorrow would bring once he left._

 _She had overheard their fathers the night before - her's already deep in his cups from the sounds of it whilst his sounded less so - discussing prospective matches for their children with laughter, which had only served to fan the flames of her anger, especially when she heard her father say he was considering Loras of House Tyrell as her future husband. The mere thought of being sold like she were some prized filly to a House that bore a rose as it's sigil made her hackles rise. She was a lioness - her mother always told her so - and she deserved a husband who would be her equal, not some pretty, delicate flower that belonged to the second wealthiest House in the Seven Kingdoms._

 _Her tiny hands balled into fists at the mere thought. She would not do it. Even if he held a knife to her throat throughout the entire ceremony, he couldn't make her do it. She'd rather die first._

 _The skin covering her knuckles began to turn white as she remember what Lord Stark had said of Kol's fate, her grip tightening even more as the words "some Manderley girl" reverberated in her head till she was sure it would burst. The thought of Kol with anyone felt wrong...with anyone but her._

 _It was confusing, what she felt for him. Often times she was convinced their bond was one of friendship and camaraderie, but there had been moments during the three moons since his arrival where she would catch him watching her openly, gazing at her with the same expression of wonderment when they'd first laid eyes on one another, only to look away once their eyes met. Her cheeks would heat for reasons unbeknownst to her in response before one of them would quickly find a way to distract the other from what had just passed between them._

 _She was so lost in her thoughts, she didn't realize he had found her until he was next to her, looking out across the waves of the Blackwater, and to the Narrow Sea in the distance._

 _She'd been avoiding him for the entirety of the feast, still livid over what their fathers had discussed, and despite knowing he had nothing to do with any of it, she found she was angry with him as well, however irrational that might be._

 _"So," she said finally, "I hear your father plans on you wedding a Manderly girl."_

 _"As I hear His Grace is looking to House Tyrell, to the Reach, for you," he replied, sounding equally as guarded and cold as she had. His response caused her stoic facade - the one she'd so often seen her mother utilize - to crumble and she felt tears burning the backs of her eyes, but she steadfastly refused to let them fall._

 _Lions do not cry._

 _Instead, she swallowed thickly before taking a deep breath._

 _"Is that it then? Is this what is to become of us?" she questioned calmly, though her temperamental ire lurked just below the surface, and when she was met with nothing but silence, it caused a sort of burning to ignite in her chest - an ache she did not know how to ease. Tears did fall from her eyes then as she shook her head and began to turn away, to flee back to her chambers, throw the bolt, and crawl into her bed, when his hand shot out and wrapped itself around her slim wrist._

 _"Davina," he said softly, so quietly that she was unsure he had actually spoken or if her mind had conjured his voice on it's own. He applied gentle pressure there, silently pleading for her to turn back to him, which she did, slowly and warily, in order to meet his eyes, and she was astonished to find that his amber ones shone with unshed tears of his own._

 _"I love you," he murmured, nearly as soft as he'd spoken her name. Those three words, so simple yet so significant in meaning, caused her to look upon him in confusion as she tried to rationalize what he'd just told her._

 _"What?" was all she was able to manage._

 _"I want nothing more than to be with you for the rest of time, and that is exactly what I intend on doing, because happily ever after?" he questioned rhetorically, and even if he'd posed it as a true question, she was too stunned to even think of coming up with a coherent answer for him. "That supposed unattainable myth in songs and childish tales? It's real, and we're going to find it...together."_

 _After an indeterminable amount of time spent staring out across the bay, she nodded several times before finally meeting his eyes once more. "Do you think that the fact you love me is supposed to change things for us?" she questioned skeptically._

 _"I do, yes," he replied without a moment's hesitation._

 _"You do realize we have no control over this, me even more so than you. My fate was sealed from the moment I was born." She might still be young, but thanks to Lord Arryn, the Hand of the King, she'd learned the best way of brokering alliances was through the bonds of marriage, and she understood her life would never truly be her own. It would be dictated by her father from the day she came into the world until the day of her marriage, and then it would belong to her husband from then until her death. Being a princess, and the eldest at that, only served to further ensure she would never control her own destiny._

 _Kol only smiled in response, and she had to stop herself from doing something unseemly, like shove him to the ground in anger. "Kol, this is serious."_

 _"I know it is."_

 _"Then why are you..?" She trailed off, at a loss as to why he was grinning like a fool._

 _"I have loved you from the moment I saw you, and every moment spent with you has caused me to fall even deeper than the second before," he replied honestly, taking a step closer so they were less than a foot away from one another. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of an emotion she'd only truly seen her mother show her, though this was different somehow still. "Just know, that when I leave tomorrow, I will continue to love you, no matter what the future brings," he said quietly before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her smooth, olive cheek as she felt another torrent of tears prick the backs of her eyes._

 _As he pulled away, she bit her lip in an attempt to keep quiet, but she couldn't help the way her body quivered as he turned and disappeared from sight, no doubt returning to the feast. After a moment, she went the opposite way, fleeing back to her chambers as fast as her feet could carry her._

 _End Flashback_

Davina looked down as she finished, blinking back tears at the memory as the light from her balcony bathed her in a heavenly sort of glow, and for a moment, she was as radiant as the rest of her siblings as the sunlight caught the gold streaks in her hair and the silver embroidery of her dress.

"We're not so different from you and Jaime," she said finally, lifting her head in order to look out across the Narrow Sea. In truth, the only large difference between she and Kol and her mother and Jaime was the fact that the Lannister twins shared the same blood, while she and Kol couldn't come from two more different worlds. This alone shouldn't have allowed for the kind of deep-seated connection they shared to exist, but exist it did. She turned to face her mother then.

"Despite what you may suspect, Kol does love me. He loves me as much as I love him, and believe me when I say I am fully aware of how lucky that makes me. Women in our position usually must make the best of our circumstances...as you have," she said hesitantly, quickly looking away as her mother's green eyes narrowed minutely, not in a venomous way, as she'd witnessed herself many a time, but in a way that showed she was trying to understand what her daughter was so clumsily trying to convey.

"I know how unhappy you are," she said quietly, turning back to Cersei with tears shining in her eyes. "You tried your best to shield us from it, but I knew, even before I saw him strike you for the first time, I knew. A-and I wish I could make things better for you..." She trailed off as Cersei nodded, seemingly agreeing with her.

"What makes my life bearable, Davina, is you - you, your brothers, and your sister," she said finally. "You are right, I'm not very happy. Truly, I never have been, but, if it weren't for my children, I would've thrown myself from the highest window in the Red Keep," she admitted quietly, and this time it was she who averted her eyes from Davina's, almost as if were shielding her daughter from her own weakness.

"I know Jaime told you about the day you were born, and he told you true." Davina held her breath as Cersei's eyes returned to hers. _Jaime's eyes. Myrcella's eyes. Tommen's eyes. Joffrey's eyes...Her eyes_. They were all the same magnificent, vibrant shade of emerald, like a field of grass in spring. In some ways, they were more haunting than Baratheon or Tully blue, Stark grey, or even Targaryen violet. She realized that no color was quite as expressive as green. They could soften like silk, harden like steel, or burn like wildfire, in both anger and passion.

"The day you came into this world was the happiest of my life," she murmured almost reverently, reaching out and tucking a stray bronzed curl behind Davina's ear, careful to not displace any of the roses Victaria had woven into her hair, before cupping her cheek. "You never love anything in the world the way you love your first child."

"But, Joff-"

"Joffrey was my first boy, yes, but you were the first child of mine to survive the cradle. You were a fighter - you always have been. From the moment I heard your first scream, I knew you would be as fierce as any lion." She smiled then. "I remember the first time I saw you holding a sword. It was a week after your fifth nameday." Davina's brow furrowed, and she realized Jaime must've informed his twin of their lessons before they'd even begun. Cersei had been aware of them all along and had never interfered or forbid it, not even once.

"The bloody thing was nearly as tall as your were, yet you held it with such ease. You listened intently as Jaime instructed you on how to thrust, and it only took you two or three tries to do it right. I remember him smiling at you before looking up to me. You were too busy practicing it, over and over, to notice." She had been tenacious those first few weeks, determined to prove to both Jaime and herself she was capable of wielding a sword as well as any man.

"I told you once that I recognized your greatness before anyone else, and you have proven me right, again and again, since the day you were born." Her hand fell away from Davina's cheek and she gathered her hands in her own. "Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen might be Jaime's, and Gendry might've been Robert's, but you are mine." She gazed searchingly into her eyes, and Davina looked back without any reservation.

"I cannot believe that any man could ever deserve you, my little lioness...but even I can see the Stark boy loves you in the way I've always prayed to the gods someone would." Davina felt Cersei press something into her palm, but she found herself unable to look away. "Promise me that you will never forget who you are," she asked, her hand returning to Davina's cheek in the process.

Davina did look down then, and found her mother had returned her necklace to her, the clasp mended, almost as if it'd never been broken in the first place, and she smiled despite herself. She weighed it in her palm for a moment before she enclosed it in her fist.

 _You are a lioness, my sweet...I pray you never forget that._

"I promise," she vowed quietly, but fiercely, and almost before the words had passed her lips, she was in her mother's arms. Before Kol, she could've wished for nothing more than her mother's warm embrace and Jaime's pride-filled smile, and even now, mere hours away from becoming a Stark in all but name, despite being unsure of her legitimacy, she knew she would always be a lion at heart, now matter how many wolves came from her womb.

* * *

Davina released a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding when her cloak of black and gold was gently eased from her shoulders by Kol and replaced by one of grey and white. She was partially surprised that Kol had not draped one of Tully colors - red, white, and blue - around her, seeing as how, while he would always possess the Stark name, he was the heir of House Tully. Traditionally, it was always the paternal House that was recognized in the protection ceremony however, so she was wasn't entirely taken aback by it.

They both turned to face the High Septon as one, sharing barely concealed, giddy smiles in the process. She couldn't help but think of how stunning a couple they made - he with both Stark and Tully sigils worked into his tunic and she with her own direwolves in her gown that sparkled in the light streaming through the massive windows of the Sept of Baelor. She wore the golden, ruby-inlaid circlet Tywin had given her whilst Kol sported a silver one of his own, yet another gift from Robert.

The King had informed her just before taking her by the arm that he intended on naming Kol a prince during the wedding feast, so he might as well look the part. She'd embraced him every bit as sincerely as she had the day before, thanking him greatly. They were one step closer to getting everything they ever wanted. Kol would now be known as not only the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, but also as a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, like Joffrey and Tommen, while she would be the Lady Paramount of the Stormlands.

The only thing left would be to have Robert name her as his heir and successor.

"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." Davina intertwined her right hand with his left, and as one they held them out for the High Septon. He began to wrap a ribbon around their joined hands, symbolic of their union.

"Let it be known that Kol of the Houses Stark and Tully, and Davina of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity." He unwound the ribbon from around their hands. "Look upon each other and say the words."

Obediently, they turned towards each other, both taking deep breaths, before reciting the words that'd been echoing in their hearts and souls for years. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger..."

"I am his, and he is mine, from this day until the end of my days."

"I am hers, and she is mine, from this day until the end of my days."

They both smiled as they finished the vows in unison, and she felt tears sting the backs of her eyes. Traditionally, Kol was supposed to proclaim _"With this kiss, I pledge my love,"_ but both found it to be far too garish and feigned for their liking, so they'd decided to forgo it altogether. Instead, he leaned down as she rose up on her toes, their lips met, and they were one, bound together in the sight of both gods and men alike, at long last.

* * *

Davina absently toyed with the pristine sheets adorning her - their, she corrected herself - bed as she waited for him to arrive. Thankfully, Robert had kept his promise to forgo a bedding ceremony, and when the time had come, Cersei had escorted her to her solar, aided her in removing her dress, and had deconstructed the masterpiece Victaria had worked on her hair.

She'd helped her into a plain, white shift and had combed through her curls before securing it in a singular braid down her back. Davina figured it was rather therapeutic for Cersei, as well as symbolic. After she and Kol consummated their union, she would be seen by all as a woman grown, and in a way, this last act was Cersei simultaneously bidding farewell to the girl her eldest had been whilst ushering her into adulthood.

Her hands had been quivering throughout the entire process, remembering every single thing her septa had ever told her about the wedding night over the years. It will be painful, but you will do your duty. To take or seek pleasure is to offend the Seven, and would be considered a sin. The words repeated over and over in her head until the tremors in her hands became all too noticeable and Cersei had noticed.

Meekly, Davina had explained her fears and the reasoning behind them, citing her knowledge from Septa Eglantine more than once. All those times - in the gardens, on the beach, in the shadows - when they'd almost gone too far had been anything but painful, but they hadn't actually done anything yet. She had no idea if she had been told the truth or not. When she was finished, she cautiously glanced over her shoulder.

 _"It will hurt,"_ her mother had said, _"but only for a moment. Then..."_ she trailed off with a soft smile, and Davina chose not to dwell on the fact she was envisioning her fleeting moments alone with Jaime, opting instead to take her reassurances to heart and ignore the rest. Cersei had left her soon afterwards, placing a kiss on her crown as she went, and as she turned away, Davina swore she could see unshed tears shining in her eyes.

As the minutes ticked by, she grew restless and began wandering her solar, pacing back and forth so fervently that she was sure she would wear a path in the floor. After doing so for an indeterminable amount of time - though she was sure in all actuality it couldn't have been more than a handful of minutes - she released a deep breath before freeing her hair from it's confines.

The wedding feast itself had been a rather small, intimate affair, with only immediate members from each Great House in attendance.

Kol's Great Uncle, Brynden Tully, more commonly known as _"the Blackfish"_ was there to represent House Tully, and could not have stood out or looked more uncomfortable if he tried. She hadn't gotten the chance to talk with him in depth, but whenever she and Kol had been apart that evening, all she had to do was find the Blackfish and there he was, standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

Mace Tyrell and his son, Loras - whom her father had jokingly contemplated becoming her husband - represented the Reach. She knew their presence had more to do with the Tourney of the Hand being held in the capital in a few weeks time rather than an actual desire to be present for a royal wedding when it was not benefitting their House, but she was grateful they'd come. Loras spent most of his time conversing with her Uncle Renly, and she had cast several narrowed glances towards the two throughout the night.

It was no large secret around court Renly preferred the company of men, and while it was never addressed publicly, Davina knew it to be true. She also didn't miss how Loras stood just a hair too close, spoke far too quietly for it to be a mere conversation between acquaintances, and she was suddenly more happy than ever she had not been paired with him.

House Arryn made no appearance, and Davina was entirely at peace with it. Lysa had fled back to the Eyrie with Robin almost immediately following Lord Arryn's death, and she suspected Lysa knew it had been no accident. Despite the woman now being family, she knew that she would have to watch the Eyrie closely for any retaliation or backlash from it's rather unpredictable Lady of the Vale.

House Martell was also not in attendance, but she knew Prince Doran suffered from much the same affliction as Hoster Tully, therefore it was more than understandable. He was the tamest of the bunch regardless, and she wouldn't have been pleased if he had sent another in his stead. The Dornish were known to have looser morals and very different customs from the other kingdoms, and she'd rather not have any wild displays or occurrences tainting the beauty or memory of her wedding.

The IronBorn of course had not made an appearance, seeing as how they had not been invited, ensuring the feast itself would be unpopulated and relatively peaceful.

Robert had proclaimed Kol a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, and if she thought he had looked pleased upon learning he would inherit the Riverlands, he seemed overjoyed as his rank was raised even further still. She knew it to be because he had never truly believed himself worthy of her - a ludicrous thought in and of itself - and hoped that now he would finally believe himself good enough for her.

After finishing undoing her braid, she straightened her shift before making for the door. Robert had commanded Jaime stand watch that night - a notion she was unsure of whether it was meant to be flattering or degrading for him. He'd claimed it to be because he trusted Jaime with her life most of all, but it could've also been out of cruelty. He would often force Jaime to stand guard outside his own chambers whilst he enjoyed the company of sometimes up to a dozen whores.

In the early days of Robert and Cersei's marriage, she suspected he had forced Jaime to listen as he indulged in his marital rights. Many knew the Lannister twins were close...but only a select few knew just how close, and Robert was definitely not one of those, thankfully. Her still drawing breath was a testament to that.

"Jaime, have you seen..." she trailed off as she was met with the sight of Kol conversing quietly with both Cersei and Jaime outside her solar. She froze for a moment before quickly crossing her arms over her chest, covering herself as best she could. The shift didn't leave much to the imagination, and judging on the way Kol's eyes had darkened as soon as he'd seen her.

She swallowed thickly before clearing her throat. "I-I was wondering where you were." If she'd have happened upon the three of them conversing weeks ago, it would've taken her completely by surprise, but after the night Myrcella had almost been stolen away, they had developed a strange, uneasy understanding of one another. She suspected Cersei and Jaime were aware that Kol knew of her possible illegitimacy, but none of them had ever told her outright if they had discussed it.

"My father - he pulled me aside before I could leave...I apologize for making you wait-"

"It's fine, truly," she said in a rush before flushing crimson and looking down at her feet as nervousness washed over her. She cursed herself for her shyness and underlying fear. What was there to fear?

Almost as if hearing her thoughts, he bridged the gap between them quietly before tilting her head up so their eyes met, emerald and amber, Lannister and Stark, South and North, Summer and Winter.

"I would never hurt you," he swore softly as his other hand lightly caressed her bare arm. "If you are not ready...we don't have to do anything tonight." His willingness to forgo his marital rights simply to accommodate her banished whatever fear and uncertainty lingered within her, replacing it with her love for him.

She answered by taking his hand in hers before silently leading him into her chambers, her eyes never once straying from his. Once they were far enough inside, she stopped and reached for his tunic. He allowed her to pull it over his head, and she let it fall to the floor as she took a singular step back, placing her just out of his reach. If it were possible, his eyes darkened from a deep mahogany to black as she slowly slid the sleeves of her shift off her shoulders and let it pool at her feet, leaving her bare before him except for her necklace.

Almost of their own volition, her hands moved to cover her chest, but he reached out and gently grasped her wrist, shaking his head, his eyes never once leaving hers.

"No, don't hide from me," he murmured softly, pleadingly.

She'd always been self conscious about her breasts - she knew they were smaller than her handmaidens' and other women's at court - but the desire that shone so brilliantly in his dark eyes gave her a burst of confidence, and she allowed him to return her arms to her sides without putting up any resistance, and only then did his gaze fall to her chest.

She inhaled sharply as his fingertips trailed along her ribs, skimming the underside of one, setting her skin aflame. After a prolonged moment, his eyes returned to hers once more as he touched the lion engraved on the front of her pendant.

"I see you for who you are, not what you are... and I love you. I always have. From the first moment I laid eyes on you." She smiled as he cupped her cheek with his other hand, and hers grasped his wrist in response.

"I might not've realized it at first, but I've loved you since the moment you helped me in the gardens that day, and I will love you until I take my last breath on this earth," she vowed quietly, and it made him smile.

"If you wish for me to stop, all you have to do is say so, and I will," he swore just before she joined their lips together in a gentle, soul-searing kiss and began backing towards the bed.

"Never," she whispered against his lips, and she meant it with every fiber of her being.

* * *

Davina wrapped her robe of Dornish silk around herself just a little more snuggly as she watched Kol - also clothed in a robe of his own - pour water into two separate cups a few feet away from her position reclined on her red and gold chaise lounge. Alysanne, Mayree, Larra, Victaria, and Kyra were in the process of changing the sheets on their bed - it felt so indescribably good to label something as theirs - whilst Cersei waited impatiently by the door to be handed the pristine sheet, stained with Davina's maiden's blood, proof of their consummated union.

He walked over, handing her one before dropping down beside her. She murmured her thanks with a smile before taking a sip and then setting it down on the side table within arm's reach. He did the same, returning his eyes to hers without hesitation.

"So, I was thinking..." she began with a giddy yet bashful smile as she glanced down at her still flat, toned stomach, "for a boy, Rickard, Steffon, Edmyn, or...Jaime." Behind her, she could hear all five of her ladies pause momentarily, seemingly taken aback by her talk of children so soon, but Kol merely smiled before playing along.

"All fine choices," he agreed, and she took it to mean he approved of them all. Of course, she'd chosen one name from each of the Houses they hailed from, to make things fair, despite knowing all five of their children would bear the Stark name, sigil, and words for all time.

Rickard was for Kol's grandfather, who'd been burned alive in the throne room of the Red Keep on the orders of the Mad King. Steffon for her supposed paternal grandfather, whom she'd never met. He'd died at sea whilst returning from the Free Cities, where he'd been searching for a noble bride for Prince Rhaegar on King Aerys' behalf. In a way, the Mad King had been the author of his death as well, regardless of his true intentions. Perhaps if she were to bear twins she could name them Rickard and Steffon. _What a pair they'd make,_ she thought wryly.

Edmyn was an old Tully name she believed to have been used only once before, several centuries ago, so it was as good a name as any, really. Truth be told, she wasn't fond of the ancestral male names of House Tully, but if Kol wished to name one of their sons as such, she wouldn't argue.

And Jaime...she'd been surprised he'd agreed to it so readily. She supposed he had no reason to oppose such a suggestion yet, but once she revealed all Myrcella had told her, she was sure he would rebuff any of her attempts to name one of their sons after the man who'd arguably had the most profound impact on her for a good number of years. Her best chance might be to lobby for their youngest, their little _Golden Knight_ Maggy had called him, to be named after his great uncle and potential grandfather.

"What about Lyanna, Jocelyn, Sirena, or Joanna?" he asked honestly. She could almost sense her mother bristle at the clear reference to Lyanna Stark, but she found she could care less whether or not it made Cersei uncomfortable. Lyanna was a beautiful Northern name - though she found many of the Northern names to be lovely - and would honor his aunt in a way that would do the Wolf Maid justice.

Jocelyn was a Baratheon name, and like with Edmyn, she found it was as good a name as any. Vaguely, she recalled Jocelyn Baratheon wedding a Targaryen Prince, becoming a Princess in her own right, and had borne a little princess of her own, only for her to be passed over for the Targaryen Prince's younger brother. The events that followed dovetailed into the Targaryen Civil War more commonly referred to as _The Dance Of Dragons._ The Half Year Queen, the one Tyrion had written of in the letter accompanying his wedding present, had been the Targaryen Princess' niece, and daughter of the new King. She, too, had been skipped over because of the archaic, male-dominate primogeniture rule of law applied to the order of succession - the one Davina hoped would be abolished and forgotten with her ascension to the throne.

She had not heard of the name Sirena before, however, in any of her studies of Tully history, and she guessed Kol recognized her confusion, for he chuckled lightly at her expression.

"I know Sirena is not...traditional, but I think it would be a deceptively powerful name for a daughter of ours." Considering in the songs of old, sirens were said to be merlings who took pleasure from luring sailors to their deaths, Davina wholeheartedly agreed with him on that front. How could she not be beautiful, cunning, quick-witted, and deadly with a name like that?

And Joanna...Davina's heart softened upon considering it. Her poor, dear grandmother who had died whilst birthing Tyrion. She had been Tywin's first cousin whom he'd forsaken all others for to call his wife. He hadn't wed her for wealth or position, for he was already Heir to Casterly Rock and the West, but it had been a love match through and through. It was said he'd even smiled on the day they'd wed, a sight Davina herself had never seen. Many said upon her death he'd been inconsolable, and he'd never entertained the thought of remarrying. It wasn't hard to imagine how Joanna's death had shaped him into the cold, unfeeling man she had the displeasure of being acquainted with.

"I love them," she murmured with a watery smile as he laid a hand over the one she already had rested on her belly. She drew the other, which was currently draped over her shoulder, across her chest and lent back against his steady form as he pressed a gentle kiss to her hair. Her eyes fell closed as she absorbed the moment, silently vowing to never forget how lucky she truly was to have him before she spoke once more. "I never did thank you." She glanced back over her shoulder to meet his eyes, knowing he wasn't entirely certain what she was thanking him for.

"I never thanked you for not giving up on me...on us," she murmured quietly, remembering their goodbye some near ten years prior.

 _"Kol...don't give up on me,"_ she'd said as he'd turned to leave.

 _"I won't. Ever,"_ had been his response then.

The smile that slowly spread across his features made her heart sing, and as he shook his head, she turned her own in order to kiss the inside of his wrist. "I would've waited until the end of time for even a chance at this," he swore fervently as her ladies finished changing her sheets and handed the proof of their consummation to her mother. "For a moment of you in my arms." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath once more, focusing on the rhythm of his heart.

Here, in his embrace, she felt as invincible as the greatest of Aegon's dragons. She knew that as long as they were together, nothing - god, man or fate - could break them. He was her strength as surely as she was his, and together, they were going to change _everything._

* * *

 **A/N:** _I apologize for the consummation scene being weak at best, but I've never really written smut before, so that was more me getting my feet wet than anything else, and I didn't want to make it overtly sexual anyways. I wanted it to be beautiful, deep, and meaningful, and while I'm not so sure it was, I'm sort of okay with how it turned out? I guess? I don't know. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!_

 _Also, I've decided that, in order to speed this train along, I'm going to be covering multiple episodes per chapter since I've laid the groundwork for those of you not as well-versed in Game of Thrones but are reading it anyways (I love you btw) and because Kol and Davina are married now, so the will they/won't they factor of their dynamic is now gone. I hope to be finished with the Season 1 storyline and be at least halfway through Season 2 by the time the Season 7 finale airs sometime later this summer, and then catch up to at least Season 7 before Season 8 begins next summer. This means that next chapter - I've pretty much decided - will cover 1x04-1x06, Chapter 5 will cover 1x07 & 1x08 (the oh shit everything's falling apart! chapter for those of you not familiar with the eps), and Chapter 6 will be the aftermath of it in 1x09 & 1x10. I haven't decided how much of Season 2 Chapter 7 will cover, but I think I can do Season 2 in less chapters._

 _ **PS:** If you guys would like to follow me on Twitter ( cxsterlylioness) or sub me on YT (DarkestxHearts), I usually tweet, make vines, or even full length vids of Kolvina, GoT, TO, and GoTKolvina :3_


	4. The Descent

**Title: The Wolf & The Lioness**

 **Chapter 4: The Descent (1x04-1x06)**

 **Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. If I had anything to do with TO, Davina never would've died and she and Kol would be blissfully happy like they are here (at least for the most part).**

 **Genre: Supernatural/Fantasy**

 **Rating: M**

 **Pairings: Kol & Davina, Jaime & Cersei (Canon), Gendry & Arya (Future), Robb & Myrcella (Future)**

 **A/N: Hey guys! This took just a tad longer than I planned, but it's finished! Hope you all enjoy it!**

 **Warning: Mentions of rape. Wonder why Davina hates Robert and couldn't give two shits about him 99.9% of the time? You're going to find out.**

* * *

"It's the Hand's Tournament that's causing all this trouble, my Lord." Beside her, Ned wiped a hand across his face out of frustration, and Davina found herself feeling the same. Small Council meetings were far less exciting than she'd ever imagined or envisioned, and with her current condition, known to only a select few, she had begun to feel more and more fatigued during the day, while tossing and turning at night, unable to fall asleep.

It'd been over two moons since the wedding, and, everything Maggy had predicted had come to pass. She'd been examined a scant fortnight and a half after her wedding following a bout of peculiar stomach sickness, and the midwife Cersei had taken her to in the city had confirmed what she'd already believed in her heart to be true.

She was with child, she and Kol's first born. The first of her five little wolf pups. Kol had been ecstatic, and had beamed with such pride, she thought his smile might even outshine the Sun itself. It was still early yet, and they'd agreed to keep the news to themselves for the time being, though she had slipped and told Jaime at one point.

Like when her mother had told him she was with child, Jaime had appeared cautious and unsure, though she could see he was genuinely happy for her. She suspected he could be fearful of child birthing in general since it had stolen his own mother from him, and in that regard, she understood his hesitancy. She would be lying if she said she hadn't considered the possibility of meeting the Stranger in the throes of labor.

"The King's Tournament," her good-father corrected. "I can assure you, the Hand wants no part of it." Janos Slynt, Head of the City Watch, sighed at Ned's response. On her other side, Lord Baelish's quil never stopped as he recorded every word uttered. Varys, Renly, and Pycelle were also at the table. She'd come to learn over the few she'd attended that her kingly father rarely ever sat in on Small Council meetings. Lord Arryn had been King in all but name, it would seem.

"Call it what you will, Lord Stark. The city is packed with people and more are flooding in every day. Last night we had a tavern riot, a brothel fire, three stabbings, and a drunken horse race down the Street of Sisters."

"Dreadful," Varys quipped, and Davina couldn't help the tiny smile his snark brought forth.

"If you can't keep the King's peace, perhaps the City Watch should be commanded by someone who can," her Uncle Renly challenged.

"I need more men," Slynt argued.

"You'll get fifty," Ned bargained. "Lord Baelish will see it paid for."

"I will?" he asked, sounding suspiciously unsure. He'd always found enough gold to support Robert's lavish lifestyle before. Why he was questioning something so simple now was beyond her.

"You found money for a champion's purse. You'll find money to keep the peace." Baelish's eyebrows rose momentarily before he returned to scribing. "I'll also give you twenty of my household guards till the crowds have left," he offered.

"And thirty of mine," she spoke up, eliciting the attention of the other five members of the council. This was the first time she'd spoken during a meeting without first being spoken to, and she had to admit, it felt nice. After years of feeling as though she were screaming as loudly as she possibly could, yet still received no attention from her father's or the other lords, she was finally beginning to receive the respect and regard she'd always craved.

"That would put the number at one hundred, would it not, Ser Janos? Surely that is more than enough to control unruly crowds." Once the wedding had taken place, while she and Kol spent nearly a fortnight holed up in her chambers, Robert had ordered several of his vassal Houses to provide a household for her, which included fifty guards of her very own, many of which she did not need. Robert had officially declared Jaime as her sworn shield, and Ser Aerys Oakheart as Myrcella's. With Jaime protecting her, she failed to see why she required to have fifty armed guards under her command.

"Thank you, my Lord Hand, Ser," he nodded to Ned before directing his attention towards her. "You as well, Your Grace. They will be put to good use." He bowed before taking his leave, and Davina nodded her head once, accepting his thanks. To her left, her good-father raised his cup to his lips.

"The sooner this is over, the better," he commented before taking a sip of wine. She, too, used this opportunity to take a small drink of water. Davina couldn't blame him for wishing it over. She loved watching tourneys, having dreamed of competing in one since the day she'd first held a sword, but she did not appreciate how crowded King's Landing had become in the weeks leading up to it.

"The Realm prospers from such events, my Lord," Varys claimed, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "They give the great a chance at glory, and the lowly a respite from their woes."

"And every inn in the city is full, and the whores are walking bow-legged." Davina rolled her eyes at Lord Baelish's vile sense of humor as Ned scowled in distaste.

"I'm sure the tourney puts coins in many a pocket," he said quickly, almost as if he wished to shield her from Lord Baelish's inappropriate commentary. "Now, if there's nothing else, my Lords." He stood, and the others took this as a sign that the meeting had come to a close, and they followed suit. She stood slowly, careful not to upset her already unhappy stomach. She'd woken that morning to the worst experience of what her mother called morning sickness yet, and because she didn't want to raise any questions or concerns about her well being, she was taking precautionary measures. By the time she stood at her full height, all had made for the door, save for Pycelle and Ned, the former of which shuffled much slower than the others. She didn't know if it was because of the chains around his neck, or old age in general, but he always seemed to make a show of his frailty - a frailty she'd always questioned.

More than once she'd wondered if he overemphasized his weaknesses on purpose so as to appear less of a threat. If it was a survival technique, he'd put it to good use. He'd held the Grand Maester position on the Small Council for four kings - Aegon V, Jaehaerys II, Aerys II, and Robert. He had been the one to advise the Mad King Aerys to open the gates for Tywin just before the Sack of King's Landing during the Rebellion. She'd long since suspected his true loyalties were to House Lannister, not the crown, but it wasn't anything more than a hunch.

"This heat," he groaned as he shuffled in front of her, directing his attention to Ned. "On days like this, I envy you Northerners your summer snows." He was right, it had been terribly warm as of late. "Until tomorrow my-"

"I've been hoping to talk to you about Jon Arryn," Ned responded quickly, cutting off Pycelle's goodbye, and his posture and tone of voice caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. He clearly hadn't believed the story he'd been told about the sickness that'd supposedly killed him, and if he were anything like his son, he wouldn't stop until he knew the truth - a truth that could cost all of them their heads.

"Lord Arryn? His death was a great sadness to all of us. He mentored the Princess very often in his final years, if I remember correctly, Your Grace." She smiled sadly and nodded. He had been her friend, and she had mourned him in private, but he'd been more to Kol's father. Jon had fostered both Ned and Robert at the Eyrie when they were boys, so the man had practically been a father to them both. "I took personal charge of his care, but...I could not save him. His sickness struck him very hard, and very fast. I saw him in my chambers just the night before he passed. Lord Jon often came to me for counsel."

"Why?" Ned asked, and Pycelle's demeanor changed completely as her good father seemingly called his importance into question.

"I have been Grand Maester for many years. Kings and Hands have come to me for advice since-"

"What did Jon want the night before he died?"

"He came inquiring after a book."

"A book?" Ned asked. 'What book?" Davina's grip on the back of her council seat tightened as she remembered the handwritten note detailing the history of her paternal House.

"It would be of little interest to you, my Lord. A ponderous tome." She hoped that would be the end of it, but it wasn't. She felt her heart drop as he claimed he wished to see it, knowing that in order to protect her husband, their child, his family, and her mother and siblings, she would have to intentionally seek out the truth with him.

* * *

"He found it," she said vacantly, staring up at the ceiling as she soaked in the tub later that night. She'd followed Ned to Pycelle's chambers, where the old maester had given him the very tome Jon Arryn had used to discover the truth of her siblings' parentage. "He found it, and I just stood by and let him," she said in disgust, curling her knees to her chest and laying her forehead against them with a heavy sigh.

Kol was over by the window, staring out across the horizon as the Sun began to sink below the waves of Blackwater Bay. He glanced at her over his shoulder and frowned at the resignation in her tone and posture. She wasn't one to give up or give in easily. The Davina he'd known since childhood never took no for an answer. She could look at the most impossible situation with the bleakest outcome and practically breathe her own will into it until it was the end she most desired.

She'd done it with their marriage, and she had almost succeeded in doing so with the line of succession, and he had every faith she would be victorious in that respect as well. Robert might be a drunken, whoring pig of a man, but he was no fool. Kol could see him leaning more towards naming Davina as his heir with every moment he spent with her.

"My father is only doing as his conscience bids," he responded easily. "He bears no ill will towards you or your family, Davina. I can assure you of that." _Your mother and uncle, on the other hand, thought it was a brilliant idea to shove a ten year old out of a window, and when he survived the fall, they sent an assassin after him to finish the job._

Shortly before the wedding, Kol's mother had arrived in King's Landing, quite unexpectedly, claiming the Lannisters had tried to have Bran killed. Thankfully, for both Bran and Catelyn, Summer, Bran's direwolf, had slain the would-be assassin before any ill fate could befall either of them, but it had awoken a desire for justice in his mother Kol had never before seen.

He'd always known his mother was a fierce protector of her children - she rivaled Cersei in that respect - but he'd never known the lengths she would go to seek vengeance for any wrong that'd been committed against them until he'd seen the look in her eyes. He knew Davina would protect their children, their five little maned wolves, just as fiercely as their mothers. Even now, he knew she would kill to keep the boy growing in her womb safe and happy.

"But his conscience could be our ruin!" she practically growled, fixing him with a scowl that could petrify even the bravest warrior. "I do not understand how you can be so calm about this. If your father finds out the truth about my mother and Jaime, then not only are my siblings' lives at stake, but our child's as well!" He walked over and knelt beside her. His father had spoken once or twice of his Aunt Lyanna possessing a certain wildness her often times saw in both Kol and Arya his own father had called "wolf's blood". Kol could see that fierce beauty in Davina's eyes now and knew it was a result of their son's blood flowing through her veins, causing hers to run even hotter than usual.

Their son, a Stark through and through, as he well should be. Though he longed for a child with the same eyes of his love's - her everything, if he were being truthful - he knew Davina wished for their first born to be undeniably Stark, from the dark hair, to the grey eyes, to the wolf's blood both he and his sister carried.

"Of course I worry, but believe me when I say I would never allow any harm to come to you - to any of you." Even to Cersei and Jaime, the architects of Bran's disability. When he'd first discovered the truth, he'd felt a kind of murderous rage he'd only felt once before, when that Pentoshi assassin had almost claimed Davina's life, but then he'd remembered how much they meant to the love of his life, and he'd done his best to suppress his instincts for her sake. If their roles were reversed, he knew she'd do the same for him.

"When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies...but _the pack survives_ ," he said quietly, reaching out and cupping her cheek. "It's something my father used to tell us," he muttered in explanation at her perplexed expression. "What I mean to say is, you are my pack now, Davina. You, our child, Myrcella, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Robb, Jon, and Tommen...we are a family bound by blood, whether some of us are pleased by the prospect or not." He smiled then, thinking of how Sansa had been difficult to say the least after the ordeal with Joffrey and their wolves. She blamed Arya, Ned, and even Davina for the absence of Lady, and had been temperamental ever since.

"This is merely a small snow storm. It will pass, given time. We should be looking ahead, towards The Long Night, and to our survival. Once Robert is dead, we can start replenishing and rebuilding the Night's Watch and the Wall." She nodded silently in solemn agreement, remembering Maggy's words as clearly as if they'd only just been spoken to her.

Kol was right. Whatever truth Ned did or did not discover, they could deal with the repercussions of them. The closer they both were to Ned, the easier it would be to navigate the situation, and if the only solution became the exile of her mother, siblings, and Jaime to Essos as a last ditch effort to escape Robert, then that would be the outcome, for a time. Once Robert died she could pardon them and they could return to her side or Casterly Rock as they saw fit.

At least, that was what she told herself as she slipped into bed later that night and sunk into her husband's warm embrace as sleep claimed her.

* * *

Several days later, she and Kol found themselves accompanying Jory, the captain of the Stark household guard, and Ned into the city in order to question a blacksmith about Jon Arryn's frequent visits to see him. She stood next to Kol, who stood next to Ned, as they conversed with the smith, Tobho Mott.

"The former Hand did call on me, my Lord, several times. I regret to say he did not honor me with his patronage."

"What did Lord Arryn want?" Ned asked curiously. Behind Tobho Mott, his apprentice - a lean but muscular young man with dark hair - was busying hammering away at something by the fire. Because he was focused on his work and his head was downcast, his face was hidden from her view.

"He always came to see the boy." Davina's eyes returned to Mott for a moment before swinging to Ned's face to gauge his reaction. To his credit, he gave none. His eyes never even left Mott's form.

"I'd like to see him as well," he responded evenly. Mott bowed his head once in acknowledgement.

"As you wish, my Lord," he said before stepping to the side. "Gendry!" Davina nearly jumped out of her skin at the name, and her hand latched onto Kol's with startling force. He shot her a questioning look, but once she regained her wits, she shook her head, not wishing to worry him. The boy sharing the same name as her deceased brother was merely a coincidence, nothing more. The name had just startled her was all. Granted, it was an oddly regal name for a commoner to give her son, but she supposed it wasn't unheard of.

"Here he is. Strong for his age, and he works hard," Mott said as Gendry came up beside him, his crystal blue eyes downcast out of respect for Davina, Kol, and Ned. He was covered in dust and a sheen of sweat, but Davina could clearly see his build was impressive for his age. Where Kol was lean, Gendry was built, though by no means would she ever view him as heavy set. He was stouter than Kol, but in an athletic sort of way, not unlike her.

"Show the Hand, Prince, and Princess the helmet you made, lad." Gendry did as he was bid, turning and retrieving a beautifully, expertly crafted helm that resembled a bull's head, complete with twin horns that looked as deadly as any long sword. He handed the helmet to Ned who observed it approvingly before handing it to Kol, who allowed Davina to pry it from his grasp without argument.

"This is fine work," Ned praised as Davina weighed the helm between her palms. It was more than beautiful - it was stunning.

"It's not for sale," Gendry replied, this time meeting Ned's eyes with an air of defiance that was all too familiar to Davina, so much so that she froze for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she took stock of him once more, and what she found caused her heart to skip a beat. It was as if she were looking at a younger version of the King - from his black hair, to his powerful build, to his facial features, and his vibrant blue eyes - but he carried himself with an air that commanded respect and radiated pride, just as she did, as Cersei did.

"This is the King's Hand!" His master replied sternly. "If His Lordship wants the helmet-"

"I made it for me," Gendry reiterated with a role of his eyes that made Davina laugh despite herself.

"Forgive him, my Lord."

"There's nothing to forgive," Ned reassured with a slight smile, amused by Gendry's confidence, as she was. She glanced over to study her husband's profile, finding a slight grin there as well. Of his siblings, Arya was the only one who could rival him with his wit and stubbornness. She could imagine how he saw Gendry as a kindred soul of sorts.

"When Lord Arryn came to visit you," Ned began, "What would you talk about?"

"Just asked me questions is all, mi-lord."

"What kind of questions?"

"About my work...if I was being treated well. If I liked it here," he paused thoughtfully before looking away. "Then he started asking me about my mother." Davina crossed her arms across her chest and shifted her weight, drawing Gendry's eyes, and once theirs met for the first time, she saw the confirmation she'd been craving. It was almost as if she were seeing her father twenty years before, and as she studied his face, she could see Cersei in his defined cheekbones - a trait she herself possessed. Joanna's cheekbones.

More importantly, she could see the same in-explainable, ageless quality when she looked into his eyes as she did when she gazed into Myrcella's - magic.

"Your mother?" Ned asked, perplexed.

"Who she was...what she looked like," he elaborated,his eyes flickering back to Ned's and away from Davina's, and she released a deep breath as reality washed over her. He was the true heir to the Iron Throne - not she, or Joffrey, or Viserys, or even Daenerys...it was him. It was supposed to be his, was still his.

"And what did you tell him?" she asked, her eyes searching his out once more.

"She died when I was little," he replied hesitantly, looking away from her piercing green eyes - the one trait he didn't share with any of his siblings - his voice softening considerably. "She had yellow hair...she used to sing to me, sometimes."

She vaguely remembered Cersei humming a haunting tune when she was little in order to coax her to sleep. Later, she'd learnt the song was none other than the Rains of Castamere, an immortalization of her grandfather's destruction of House Reyne when they'd dared rise against House Lannister. It served as a warning to any who dared rise against Tywin - the Great Lion - and his descendants.

"Sing to you?" she asked, prying, searching for any evidence of the same. If he described anything like the Rains of Castamere, she'd know her suspicions to be true, and if that were the case, then not only did her mother know about Gendry, but she had perhaps been the architect of his apparent kidnapping that acted as a bait and switch to avoid giving Robert what he had wished for more than anything in the early days of their marriage.

 _An heir._

"Not so much words as a tune," he responded after a moment, shooting her a strange look. Beside her, she felt Ned straighten, and she knew he recognized the resemblance to Robert at least.

"Look at me," he demanded, and Gendry slowly tore his eyes from hers to meet Ned's. He was silent for several moments until he finally handed Gendry back his helm. "Get back to work, lad." Gendry took the helmet from him and returned to the fire. Davina watched him go with a heavy heart, teary eyes, and so many unanswerable questions.

"If the day ever comes when that boy would rather wield a sword than forge one...you send him to me," Ned instructed before hastily exiting. Davina shot one more look to Gendry before tearing herself away and following suit. As she followed Ned back to where Jory watched over Balerion, Rose, and the other two white horses that'd accompanied them, she felt Kol grasp her elbow and pull her to the side.

"What just happened?" He asked confusedly. She shook her head, intending on denying it until she could sort everything out herself, when his grip tightened minutely, his eyes pleading. "Don't shut me out. You look like you've just seen a ghost." His amber eyes, so full of love and genuine concern, had her caving in a matter of moments.

"Do you remember when I told you of the child my parents lost? My brother?" He nodded slowly, clearly wondering where she was heading with this, and she sighed heavily, almost defeatedly.

"I never told you his name," she said slowly. "It was Gendry." Her reply was no more than a whisper, but based on the shocked look plastered across her husband's face, she might as well have shouted loud enough for all of King's Landing to hear.

* * *

Davina smiled despite herself as she walked down the corridor leading to her father's chambers. Her belly was just beginning to swell beneath her dresses, but the bump was still insignificant enough to go virtually unnoticed to the naked eye. Of the people closest to her, only Kol, Cersei, Jaime, and Myrcella knew she was with child, but she'd decided earlier that day - after being reassured by Pycelle - that it was safe to tell others.

She was headed to tell the King, and while she could care less whether or not he was joyous at the prospect of becoming a grandfather or not, she found she was slightly terrified for the rest of the Seven Kingdoms to know of her child's existence. Once she told Robert, he'd surely send Ravens out to all the Great Houses, from Sunspear to Winterfell, and word would spread across the Narrow Sea. He'd no longer be her little secret, kept safe by the protection of her excuses and feigned reasonings behind feeling ill.

Her smile wavered slightly, her hand gravitating towards her child, when Jory came around the corner. She forcefully returned her hand to her side, resisting the strong urge to lay it atop her still mostly flat belly, and clenched it in a fist to fight off the temptation. He smiled and nodded to her out of respect, addressing her as 'Lady Stark', as all of Ned's household did, before continuing on.

Once he was safely out of sight, she glanced around for a moment, checking to make sure she was alone, before cradling her child with a slight grin. She finished her walk to Robert's chambers as such, only pausing outside the doors at the sight of Jaime on duty with a peculiar look on his face.

"Jaime?" she asked worriedly, and his green eyes automatically shot up to meet her identical ones. "What is it?" No sooner had the words left her mouth than did the heavy doors to her father's chambers open, and three scantily dressed young women emerged. Her eyes went wide for a moment before she averted them, ignoring the women as they curtseyed clumsily to her before hurrying down the hall. Jaime closed the door just as she heard Robert drunkenly speak to someone - no doubt another whore - and several feigned giggles ring out. She felt as though she might be sick, and it wasn't due to the child she carried.

Jaime had told her once that Robert liked to have up to a dozen whores at a time when he was on duty, and while she'd believed him, she'd never experienced it first hand. She felt an overwhelming anger bubble inside her chest and she knew that if Robert wasn't King, she would've run him through right then and there to preserve her mother's honor and save Jaime from the hell he'd been subjected to.

Instead, she glanced down at her hand covering her belly. Jaime noticed this. "How is..."

"He's fine," she said quickly. "Pycelle...examined me earlier today and said he was perfectly healthy. He told me it was safe to tell people, so I thought..." she trailed off, casting a quick glance to the door before shaking her head. Robert didn't deserve to hear such joyous news. Jaime, on the other hand, had more right than Robert to be seen as her son's grandfather. A large part of her wished he was - a larger part than she cared to admit.

Even if this child wasn't directly related to him by blood, she hoped that Jaime would love her son as he had loved her, and as the thought crossed her mind, her eyes returned to his.

"Jaime...will you promise me something?" she asked carefully, biting her lip as she did so.

"Anything," he said, practically without any hesitation whatsoever.

"Can you teach him the same as you did me?" she asked quietly after a moment. "Will you...will you love him as you do me?" she amended, this time barely above a whisper. He frowned at her request, but before he could respond, she plowed on. "I fear that, should he come out dark haired and gray eyed as I believe he will, that...that Mother won't love him. I was lucky to have Lannister eyes, but should he be all Stark, I don't...I don't think she'll accept him."

"Davina-"

"I want her to love him, Jaime. I want you to love him too. I could give two shits if Robert does or not, but..." she didn't realize she was crying until Jaime shushed her softly, reaching out and wiping away a tear as it tracked a path down her cheek.

"If he's anything like his mother, I highly doubt either of us will have a choice in the matter," he murmured with a chuckle that lifted her spirits enough to evoke a small smile from her, and she blinked away the tears before throwing her arms about his middle, and his arms wound around her figure in response. From her earliest memory, Jaime had been her one constant, like her very own North star shining in the distance. He had been everything to her over the years - her friend, her confidante, her teacher, her father, and her savior.

There had been an instance when she'd been about eight where Joffrey had cornered her after she'd snuck out of her chambers in order to watch the fireflies. It had been a ritual she and Kol had developed during his stay in King's Landing, and she'd continued the tradition. It had taken Joff years to discover her nightly routine, but once he had, he hadn't hesitated in sneaking out to follow her. He'd waited until he was sure she was alone before grabbing her by the throat and backing her into a corner. His hands had wandered then in a way no seven year old's should know, and she'd pleaded with him to stop, her cries only serving to strengthen his apparent resolve to ruin her.

As his hands moved to her shoulders, intending on ripping her nightdress, he'd been lifted and practically thrown away from her. Joffrey had sneered once he'd regained his balance, threatening to tell Cersei on Jaime, but Jaime had glared, telling him that if he so much as breathed a word of what had happened, he would sorely regret it. Joffrey had slinked away with his tail between his legs without so much as another word.

Coming back to the present, Davina pulled away just enough so she could meet Jaime's eyes once more. "Thank you for saving me that first time," she said quietly, realizing she'd been too shaken that night to do more than nod tearfully as he'd made her promise to never allow herself to be laid low by any man, least of all Joffrey. Her mother might've been the first to see her strength, but it had been Jaime to coax her lion's heart out from beneath her fragile exterior. His eyes softened as he too remembered that night. "And for everything else after...I _love_ you, Jaime." He smiled minutely and brushed some of her bronze waves out of her face.

I love you, too," he admitted quietly. It was the first time they'd admitted such aloud, but it felt right, and as they embraced once again, she squeezed him just a little tighter, as he held her just the slightest bit more reverently. Regardless if Robert had aided in giving her life or not, Jaime would always be her father in her heart, and to her, that was all that truly mattered.

* * *

Davina couldn't hide her smile as Myrcella deftly ducked under Jaime's blade, evading him as he sought to knock her on her ass. She responded with a thrust of her own, her blonde curls - which were fashioned in a singular braid down her back - shining in the light of the afternoon Sun as she did so. Jaime blocked the blow easily, and the two began their dance anew.

After Myrcella had almost been kidnapped, she'd gone to Jaime directly, requesting he train her as he had her older sister. He'd been hesitant at first, but all it'd taken was a stern look from Davina - reminiscent of Cersei - and he'd given in. Jaime was less comfortable around Myrcella, not as much himself as he was with Davina, but that was because he had never truly spent any time with 'Cella.

Though he favored her over Tommen, and definitely preferred her to Joffrey, he'd always kept his distance, whether that be a result of his reluctance to assume any fatherly responsibilities or his fear for her safety, Davina wasn't sure. She liked to assume it was a bit of both. As the weeks passed it was becoming evident Myrcella was worming her way into Jaime's heart just as adeptly as Davina had years before.

Beside her, Cersei watched Jaime and Myrcella exchange blows with a calmness about her, reacting to nothing. Inwardly, Davina wondered whether or not this was how she'd reacted to Davina and Jaime's lessons in the past when she watched them spar from the balcony of her chambers.

She watched as Jaime shook his head at one of Myrcella's maneuvers before reminding her to always stand side face because it would make her a significantly smaller target. He used the flat edge of his sparring sword to position her body the proper way - tapping between her shoulder blades, behind her knees, and tilting her chin upwards.

Davina had leant Myrcella some of her old, smaller breeches, plain white tunic, and boots for it, all of which fit her perfectly. It had taken some getting used to, for it was very different from the pretty dresses of myrish lace and dornish silk she was used to, but now Davina could see Myrcella found her sparring attire much more comfortable and freeing than her formal ones.

In the moons that had passed since the wedding, Davina, Myrcella, and Tommen's namedays had all come and gone, placing them aged sixteen, eleven, and nine respectively. Though Tommen still had yet to grow out of his baby fat and was very much a child, Myrcella had grown at least two inches taller in the past few weeks, placing her close to Davina's height. Her body was slowly but surely transforming from a girl's to that of a maiden's, and even then Davina knew her sister would grow to be every bit as beautiful as their mother.

As Myrcella used two hands to try and swing the sword, grimacing as she did so, only to have Jaime deftly block her blow, he scolded her for giving away her move before she'd even made it. Davina knew how heavy sparring swords were, and though she herself had managed them at Myrcella's age, that had been after six years with wooden swords, which Myrcella had refused to use.

Her determination and dedication to her lessons was admirable, but even Davina knew she was nowhere near strong enough to wield a longsword yet, which was why she'd returned to the smith and requested a special blade to be forged that resembled Arya's skinnier one she lovingly named Needle. The design actually resembled Brightroar's greatly - from the golden lioness head of the pommel to the number of tiny rubies scattered about the crossguard - though it would not be forged of Valyrian steel.

She'd spoken of Myrcella to Gendry as she'd been dictating her vision for the blade, and though neither Myrcella nor Gendry knew they were half-siblings, Gendry had smiled as she'd described their sister before vowing it would be nothing less than perfect. She smiled at the memory then, wishing, hoping for the day when the two could at least meet face to face.

Gendry, unlike Joffrey, was kind and quick witted, and though he shared the same likeness as Robert, his personality leaned more towards Cersei's, namely his stubbornness and sharp tongue. Not for the first time, she wondered if Cersei was aware that he was alive. Surely with how fierce a protector she was of her children she was unaware.

She felt more than saw Kol sidle up behind her as her eyes remained glued to her sister and her - possibly their - father as they continued their lesson. Her husband wrapped his arms around her, and she smiled as she leant back against him willingly with a contented sigh, momentarily pushing thoughts of Gendry to the back of her mind.

"How is my wife?" he whispered in her ear before his hands traveled down her torso, settling on her belly. "And how is our son?" Beside her, she could tell this had caught Cersei's attention, but she merely laughed and shook her head.

"With all the moving your boy has been doing of late, I half expect him to come out fully suited wielding a longsword." It was still fairly early, though hiding her belly had now become impossible. It had been nearly five moons since the wedding, and the swell of her stomach caused by the child growing within her was unmistakable.

Upon being told, Robert had sent ravens out to all the Great Houses of the Realm, announcing the coming arrival of his first grandchild, claiming both he and Cersei were overjoyed, when in all actuality, the two rarely spoke to one another and wouldn't know if the other was happy with the prospect or not. She knew her mother was truly glad for her, even if the child would be half wolf, and she knew Robert loved the idea of another royal birth, but she was unsure of his role in her son's life.

Frankly, if he chose to remain as distant as he had with she, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen, she wouldn't be too torn up about it. Everything he touched withered and died, and she could do without his toxic influence on her son. Jaime, on the other hand, wouldn't necessarily jump into the role of grandfather easily or readily - as Ned no doubt would - but he had promised to teach him as he had her, as he was now teaching 'Cella, and Davina had accepted it for now.

It was a start at least.

"Ah, that damn wolf's blood runs through his veins after all," he chuckled quietly. "My grandfather said that my Aunt Lyanna had wolf's blood because she was wild with a fierce kind of rare natural beauty. My father said once that Arya and I have the same." Davina listened intently, knowing that Kol felt a deep seated bond with his Aunt despite never having met her. They were kindred souls in a way, cut from the same cloth. He was every bit as wild as the creature on his House's sigil, but he kept himself contained for her sake.

The only time she'd ever seen his control waiver had been when her life had been threatened, and the prospect of losing her had nearly sent him over the edge entirely. Many women - especially Southern girls - would've been put off or even frightened by such behavior, but not her. No, she embraced his wild nature with open arms, for she had some of it herself. In that respect she was able to understand him better than almost anyone.

"He'll be be every bit as fierce and kind-hearted as his father," she said softly, smiling up at him from over her shoulder. He grinned back, and she became lost in his eyes for a moment before the sound of Myrcella gasping caused her to turn her attention back to her sister and Jaime.

She found Myrcella flat on her back on the grass, with a scowl plastered across her face of both frustration and self-disappointment, the likes of which Davina had never seen before. Her sister had always been a quiet but happy child. She never fussed or complained - the complete opposite of Joffrey - and she hardly ever voiced any negative opinions or emotions with anyone other than those she was closest to.

Jaime extended his hand to help her up, but she batted it away furiously before pushing herself to her feet and stalking away. Davina watched her go with a frown before she moved to follow, leaving Kol behind with Jaime as she felt Cersei hot on her heels. She quickened her pace so that she would beat their mother to 'Cella.

"Cella!"

"Leave me alone, Davina," she all but growled.

She watched Myrcella throw her sparring sword away angrily with a frustrated sound, and she pushed herself harder until she was within arm's reach.

"Cella, wait!" Davina grasped Myrcella by her wrist and used it to spin her around, only to quickly take a step back as her sister quite literally took a swing at her with a closed fist. If Davina hadn't seen the blow coming, she would've taken it across the face, but thanks to her quick reflexes, all Myrcella managed to strike was air.

Cersei yelled their names, but neither reacted to their mother's voice.

The two stood there, seemingly at a stalemate, as Davina watched her sister's chest heave, her emerald eyes radiating rage - not at Davina, but directed towards herself - before she shook her head and turned back around to stalk off. Her flight instinct, to back down instead of confront her problems head on, caused Davina to scowl and she shook her head. She would not give up this easily, she wouldn't allow her to. She was stronger than she realized, she just needed someone to show her that inner strength Davina knew resided within her.

"Hey!" she yelled, and when that failed to get Myrcella's attention, Davina grabbed and shoved her against the trunk of an apple tree.

"Let go of me!" Davina held her firm as she struggled, green eyes welling with angry tears until the fight went out of her and she dissolved into a fit of sobs. Davina let her collapse into her arms and rubbed her back soothingly, whispering reassurances into her ear softly.

"It's okay, 'Cella. I understand," she murmured once her shoulders had stopped shaking. Slowly, Myrcella pulled away, emerald eyes vibrant despite everything, and she looked upon her hopefully, innocently, with such purity it made Davina's heart ache.

"You do?" she asked, her voice no louder than a raspy whisper. Davina nodded and took a step back before kneeling before her so Myrcella had to look down into her eyes, giving her the unconscious sense of possessing the advantage.

"I do. I understand you feel inadequate, like you're a failure, but you're not. You never could be," she said quietly, reaching out and cupping her sister's cheek for a moment before letting her hand slip back to her side. "You're much stronger than you realize, Myrcella. You might bear the name of a stag, but you have the heart of a lion." At her words, her sister squared her shoulders without thinking, and Davina could see the same pride she saw whenever she looked in their mother's eyes shining in Myrcella's.

She'd always thought 'Cella possessed all of Cersei's beauty but none of her nature, but saw then she'd been wrong to assume such a thing. Myrcella might not have it in her to be cruel or vindictive, but she was every bit as strong as their lady mother, and her mother before her. If Lannister men had a mind for battle, Lannister women had the heart of a warrior, and Myrcella was no exception.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked honestly. "What do you want?"

"I want to not be scared," she responded almost immediately, taking a step back and grasping the end of her long, golden braid in one hand, fiddling with it for a moment before tossing it over her shoulder with a frustrated sigh. "The night Viserys tried to take me, I felt completely weak and utterly terrified. I had to wait for you to come and save me, and I hate it. If I'm to survive the wars to come, as you said, and stand at your side as I'm meant to, then I have to be stronger than that. I want to be stronger than that." She paused for a moment, staring at something over Davina's shoulder before recognition lit in her eyes.

She turned back to her sister with a newfound sense of determination, and in that moment, it was almost as if Davina was looking into a mirror as she saw into Myrcella's very soul. Not only did the same blood flow through their veins, but the same wants, hopes, dreams, and motivations, like they were two halves of the same soul, and it nearly stole the breath from Davina's lungs. If she looked long enough, she swore she could see the magic swirling in her sister's eyes as she could with Kol's, even before they'd awoken.

"I want to be powerful," she said with a smile that Davina returned.

"Good," she said before standing and moving behind her. "Now, I've been watching how Jaime has been teaching you these past few weeks, and it's good - it's exactly how he taught me - but he's teaching you as if you were his height and weight. I didn't start besting him until I realized I couldn't fight the same way he did because physically I can never match him. You're smaller, but that also means you're quicker. Use that to your advantage. Throw him off balance." She used the toe of her boot to nudge gently behind Myrcella's ankle.

"Strike here when you do and you send him flat on his back. That's when your weight becomes your best ally. Pin him down and press a blade to his throat." Myrcella glanced back over her shoulder to meet her older sister's eyes with an air of mischief before nodding quickly and striding away, back towards Jaime and Kol, with a newfound purpose.

Davina watched her go with a smile and a slight shake of her head before turning and face their mother, who was watching her with an unreadable expression. It almost a mix of pride and trepidation. Paying her no mind, she grinned widely before her eyes returned to Myrcella's retreating form as she picked up her previously discarded sparring sword.

Not five minutes later, Jaime was flat on his back with one of Myrcella's knees pressed against his chest while the flat edge of her sparring sword pressed against his throat. Davina and Kol both cheered as she bested him while Cersei simply smiled and held back laughter. Jaime looked rather put out that he'd been beaten by an eleven year old girl, but his mood soon improved when he saw the look of triumph on his daughter's face.

As Myrcella lent him a hand to help him up, Kol took Davina by the elbow and led her out of earshot from her mother, uncle, and sister. Frowning, she opened her mouth to ask him why he suddenly looked so worried, but he beat her to it.

"I received a raven from my mother. She came across your Uncle Tyrion in an inn on his way back to King's Landing as she was returning to Winterfell. She's taking him back North as a hostage to answer for his crimes." Davina was speechless for a moment before she shook her head in disbelief.

"His crimes? What crimes has he committed against your family?" she demanded, and Kol had to shush her least she draw too much attention to them. He'd only just read the letter before coming to find her, knowing the consequences of his mother's actions all too well. What she'd done had been foolishly impulsive, especially considering she didn't have any solid evidence linking Tyrion to the crime, but there was no changing it now. It was done, and the only thing he and Davina could do now was pick up the pieces - attempt to broker a peace between their Houses before things escalated out of their hands.

"After we left Winterfell, there was an attempt on Bran's life," he said quietly, and she cast one more look at Jaime and Myrcella before turning around and taking him by the arm, leading him out of sight, deeper into the gardens of the Red Keep.

"And why does your mother believe Tyrion was the mastermind?" she asked finally, once they were truly alone. "What proof, what basis does she have to support her claims?"

"A valyrian dagger she believes belongs to Tyrion was the intended weapon. Baelish said during the tourney for Joffrey's fourteenth name day, he bet on Jaime to win the joust, but Loras unseated him, and Tyrion won the dagger from him." Davina's eyes narrowed dangerously at the mention of her former mentor. She'd always known him to be slippery, but she could clearly see the game he was playing now - pitting the Starks and Lannisters against each other - and they had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.

Thanks to Baelish's machinations, they would battle like cats and dogs whilst he set his sights on the one thing he desired most in this world - her throne.

She'd often seen the longing glances he'd cast towards the Iron Throne when he believed no one was watching and knew he had designs of seeing himself sitting it before everything was said and done. One didn't have to look too long to see his true desires.

She gritted her teeth and raked one frustrated hand back through her lose bronze waves in irritation. He was playing both sides and doing so exceedingly well. If she became Queen, one of her first acts would be to remove him from the Small Council and send him back to the Fingers where he belonged. She would have to find a new Master of Coin, but those were replaceable enough. She needed to fill her Small Council with people she could trust - Ned, Jaime, Renly, Tyrion.

Maybe she'd even send a raven to Casterly Rock and request for Marcel to come to court. It'd been too long since she'd last seen him, and she knew he'd be glad to get away from her grandfather. Though he'd served him well over the years, first as a cupbearer and later as Tywin's right hand who manned Casterly Rock when he was away, she knew he hated the man almost as fervently as she did.

Marcel had been born in one of the Free Cities in Essos - he'd never told her specifically which one - and had been sold to Tywin during one of his visits to the Iron Bank. Once Tywin's dealings in Braavos had been complete, he'd taken Marcel back with him and mentored him slowly but surely, treating him better and holding him in higher regard than Tyrion, his own flesh and blood. Now, Tywin viewed him as part of the family, though he'd never officially admitted to it.

He'd personally seen to her care while she'd stayed at her mother's ancestral home, and had shown her more kindness and camaraderie than just about anyone she'd ever known. As a result, she'd come to view him as an older brother of sorts. She would trust him with her life - with Myrcella's life - and knew the feeling was mutual.

Perhaps he could be her Master of War. He had been taught by the best, after all.

"Why would Tyrion wish harm on Bran?" she asked honestly, sounding tired - exasperated, even. "What would he gain?" Kol narrowed his eyes, studying her, and it made her unconsciously cross her arms across her chest in a form of self-defense. She had yet to tell him of Jaime and Cersei's involvement in Bran's accident, but based off the look of skepticism in his amber eyes, he already knew, or at least suspected as much.

"So, it is true," he said quietly after studying her for several moments. Anger flashed across his face, followed by sorrow, and then betrayal. "Why didn't you say something?" Her mouth opened and closed several times, wanting and needing to say something, anything, in her defense, only to be unable to come up with any reasonable response.

"He's just a boy, Davina. Ten years old. Myrcella is barely his senior! How would you feel if someone did that to-"

"They're my parents!" she yelled, feeling tears prick the backs of her eyes. "Please, don't ask me to choose, because I can't. I understand where you're coming from, but just as Bran is your blood, they are mine." She wiped a tear away as his anger morphed into sympathy, and his hardened amber eyes melted into a soft mahogany. He drew her into his arms gently, his hand delving into her bronze waves to cup the back of her neck as she buried her face into his shoulder.

"What's done is done. All we can do now is stop this madness before things get even further out of hand." He was right. They needed to figure out a way to settle the quarreling between their families before civil war broke out.

A civil war their son would be caught in the middle of.

* * *

"The whore is pregnant," Robert bit out in disgust as he stared at Ned, who was standing before the Small Council table where she, Robert, Varys, Littlefinger, Renly, and Pycelle sat.

"You're speaking of murdering a child," Ned argued.

"I warned you this would happen, back in the North. I warned you, but you didn't care to hear. Well, hear it now - I want them dead, mother and child both...and that fool Viserys as well. Is that plain enough for you? I want them both dead." At the venom in his voice, Davina unconsciously laid a protective hand atop her own child, a child that would undoubtedly become the Targaryen child's rival should he survive her father's wrath.

"You'll dishonor yourself forever if you do this."

"Honor?! I've got Seven Kingdoms to rule! One King, Seven Kingdoms! Do you think honor keeps them in line? Do you think it's honor keeping the peace? It's fear - fear and blood."

"Then we're no better than the Mad King!" Davina sunk back into the velvet upholstering of her council chair as she and Kol's fathers descended into an all out screaming match.

"Careful, Ned, careful now!" Robert warned sternly. If there was one thing Robert despised above all else, it was being compared or likened to his predecessors.

"You want to assassinate a girl because the Spider heard a rumor?" She shot a look at Varys, who looked unimpressed at the Hand's jab. The information Varys had received was very accurate and Ned would be a fool to ignore it. She herself knew it to be true, for Daenerys had been pregnant before she and Kol had wed.

Robert looked at those sitting around him, and as his eyes landed on her, she quickly averted her gaze. She had no desire to act as mediator between the two.

"You're my Council, counsel! Speak sense to this honourable fool!"

"I understand your...misgivings, my Lord, truly, I do. It is a terrible thing we must consider - a vile thing - yet, we who presume to rule must sometimes do viel things for the good of the Realm," Varys attempted to reason, and as much as Davina hated to admit it, she found she agreed with him. As a future mother herself, it feel so horribly wrong to even take such a thing into consideration, but if it was for the good of the Realm - for her son - she'd murder just about anyone who challenged her. "Should the gods grant Daenerys a son...the Realm will bleed."

"I bear this girl no ill-will," Pycelle ventured. "But, should the Dothraki invade, how many innocents will die? How many towns will burn? Is it not wiser...kinder, even, that she should die now so that tens of thousands might live."

"We should've had them both killed years ago," Renly added, and Davina found herself avoiding Ned's gaze as it fell on her. Of the members of the Council, only she and Littlefinger had yet to add their piece.

"When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, best close your eyes, get it over with." Out of her periphery, she saw Varys wince as Baelish's vulgarity, and she felt herself shudder in response. After months of sitting on the Council, she should've been used to his behavior by now - he ran several brothels for fuck's sake - but she doubted she'd ever grow accustomed to it. She would never let any of them see how uncomfortable such talk made her, however. "Cut her throat - be done with it," he said with a sly smile.

She felt every eye turn to her as she drummed her nails across the wooden table, staring at a swirl in the grain of the wood for a few moments before she reluctantly looked up and met her good-father's questioning gaze. He clearly expected her to be opposed to it, but as she gritted her teeth out of guilt, she could see his demeanor change. He knew where she stood on the matter.

"How can you go along with this?" he questioned angrily, his eyes flickering down to her belly in accusation, and something about it caused her to scowl before sitting up straighter.

"For my son," she answered firmly, with as much passion as he had when arguing with Robert earlier. "I would do anything for the child I carry, Lord Stark. If this act saves him from having to face off with Daenerys' son later in life, if this saves him from war, then I would personally slit the throats of a thousand babes. My fellow councilors might have ulterior motives for choosing this path - pride, hatred, the esteem of their King - but I assure you, I am thinking only of the future of the Realm and of my child - your grandchild. Surely you cannot condemn me for a purpose as pure and selfless as that."

He seemed to have no worthwhile argument that would prove her wrong or he believed could convince her otherwise, so he helplessly turned his eyes back to his childhood friend and King.

"I followed you into war...twice - without doubts, without second thoughts - but I will not follow you now," he vowed calmly. "The Robert I grew up with didn't tremble in the shadow of an unborn child."

"She dies," the King shot back.

"I will have no part in it," Ned promised with a shake of his head.

"You're the King's Hand, Lord Stark. You'll do as I command, or I'll find me a Hand who will." Ned responded by removing his badge and tossing it to the table in front of Robert.

"Then good luck to him...I thought you were a better man," he replied sadly. Her father rose from his council chair in such a way she could practically feel his ire coursing through the air around him.

"Out, out, damn you, I'm done with you." Ned turned and began making his way out of the Small Council chambers. "Go, run back to Winterfell!" He exclaimed angrily. "I'll have your head on a spike! I'll put it there myself you fool! You think you're too good for this! Too proud and honorable, this is a war!"

* * *

Davina smoothed her gown of black and gold as she turned down the hall approaching the King's chambers. He'd sent Lancel, her mother's cousin and his squire, in the middle of breaking her fast with Arya and Myrcella that morning to inform her he would like to see her at her earliest convenience. She finished quickly after Lancel's departure, apologizing to both girls as she'd promised to watch them spar with Arya's dancing master, Syrio Forel, that day.

Ned had hired him to teach Arya in the art of Braavosi water dancing - a much more fluid style of fighting that suited both girls far better than the Westerosi one of hacking - closely following her wedding, and as the months had passed, Arya and Myrcella had grown back together. In the aftermath of the mess with the wolves on the Kingsroad, Cersei had forbid the girls from spending any exorbitant amount of time together, and as a result, they'd seldom seen one another.

That had all changed only several days before when Davina had informed Arya of how Myrcella had taken to fighting. Within a day, Arya had sought out her old friend and the two had caught on like wildfire a second time, only this time, Davina knew their bond would become unbreakable. The promise of lifelong friendship had been there the first, but her mother had been quick to snuff out those embers before they'd caught fire. Now, with her mother unaware and Myrcella growing bolder and more independent by the hour, Davina knew her sister wasn't going to give up Arya again.

As she approached the King's chambers, she frowned momentarily as she was met with a sight she had perhaps never seen before.

There was no kingsguard posted outside the doors to his solar.

Even when thinking back to her earliest memory, there had always been at least one, sometimes two, but never had there been no one. She picked up her pace out of concern, her left hand falling to rest on Brightroar's hilt instinctively. Courtiers had been both surprised and alarmed at the sight of it about her hips in the beginning, no matter if she watched court proceedings from the gallery with the other ladies or if she was simply taking a midday stroll in the gardens with her husband, but as time had worn on, many had grown accustomed to it.

Even as her belly began to swell with she and Kol's son, it remained a constant presence at her side. Now more than ever before, she was thankful Jaime had thought to give her a belt for it as well - a belt that was very flexible in it's ability to be adjusted to fit her needs. She wagered she'd even be able to wear it up until the moment she gave birth if she so chose.

Her grip on the hilt tightened as she reached the doors and wasted no time in throwing them open in dramatic fashion, fearing the worst, only to be met with a sight that supremely confounded her.

All seven kingsguard - Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Meryn Trant, Ser Mandon Moore, Ser Boros Blount, Ser Preston Greenfield, Ser Arys Oakheart, and Jaime - waited inside, standing in a group facing their King as he sat and drank what appeared to be a glass of Dornish red from a clear goblet. All eight pairs of eyes turned to her as she entered, some, like Ser Meryn, clearly resisting the urge to laugh as she looked ready for a fight, while others such as Ser Barristan and Jaime held back smiles.

Her father chuckled at the sight and hoisted himself to his feet. "To think, out of all my children, my first girl would be the warrior. Ready for a fight even with a babe in her belly." Her right hand came down to press against said swell protectively at his words, as her left loosened the grip on Brightroar, though she did not release it.

"I apologize for the rather tactless entrance, Your Grace. I was merely alarmed when I saw there were no kingsguard guarding your door upon my arrival and I-" she was going to elaborate more on her apology, but he held up a hand and waved her off.

"No need to explain. Any man worth his merit would've done the same." She nodded once before curtseying low, or, at least as low as her belly would allow. At six and a half moons, it was becoming difficult for her to perform certain tasks. Kol had to aid her in putting on her boots, for she could no longer see her feet or bend down in order to do so herself.

Robert noticed how her belly encumbered her mobility and smiled at the sight. "How is that grandchild of mine? What are you, six, seven moons along?"

"Nearly seven, Your Grace, and the child is quite well. Over the past few weeks, he's taken to kicking and punching my internal organs. I told my husband not long ago I half expect him to come out fully suited brandishing a longsword with how active he is," she said with a slight chuckle.

"He?" Robert asked uncertainly before something akin to hope filled his ice blue eyes. "Are you quite sure?" She glanced to the entirety of the kingsguard witnessing their exchange in hesitation before her eyes returned to Robert.

"Apparently Lady Catelyn carried Kol and all his brothers as I am carrying this child - high with little added weight anywhere but my belly. Grand Maester Pycelle confirmed that I was likely carrying a son a few days ago." She'd always known the child in her womb to be a boy, even before he'd existed, but hearing Pycelle confirm it had been a relief. She would've loved a daughter no less, but she and Kol desperately needed a son. A first born's life was easier if he were male, she'd decided, having known the other side from personal experience.

Robert was silent for several long moments before he burst out in laughter, slightly startling her, before pouring her a goblet of Dornish red. She took it willingly, even going to far as to sniffing it once his back was turned, but she found the bittersweet smell reviling and merely held it in her hands as she watched him take a seat behind his desk once more with a heavy sigh, no longer jovial at the prospect of a grandson.

"If the Targaryen girl convinces her horse lord husband to invade," he began, and she ventured closer, gripping the back of a chair directly across from his desk with her free hand. "And the Dothraki horde crosses the Narrow Sea, I fear we won't be able to stop them." As he took a sip from his cup, she frowned and glanced behind her to meet Jaime's eyes, searching for a purpose behind him calling the entirety of his kingsguard and his eldest child before him, but finding none.

"Lord Tywin would say that the Dothraki do not sail. They don't have discipline, they don't have armor, they have no siege weapons to speak of...if you grandfather is right, what have we to worry?" he asked rhetorically, and she could think of no argument in response. He was right, Tywin would logically come to those correct conclusions, as any levelheaded man would, but many underestimated just how quickly the tides could turn, how rapidly allegiances could shift.

There was always a first for everything, after all.

"Let's say Viserys Targaryen lands with forty thousand Dothraki screamers at his back," Robert began, laying a scenario out before her. "We hole up in our castles. A wise move. Only a fool would meet the Dothraki in an open field." Robert made such a bloody fool of himself so often that she'd forgotten just how talented of a warrior he'd been in his youth. He had never been born to be a king. He'd meant to be a soldier, nothing more, nothing less.

"They leave us in our castles. They go from town to town, looting and burning, killing every man who can't hide behind a stone wall, stealing all our crops and livestock, enslaving all our women and children. How long do the people of the Seven Kingdoms stand behind their absentee King? Their cowardly King hiding behind castle walls? When do the people decide that Viserys Targaryen is the rightful monarch after all?"

"Forty thousand, you said?" she asked, rising to meet his challenge. He was testing her - she could see it in his eyes. "My grandfather would no doubt remind you that we outnumber them. The Lannister army itself possesses forty thousand alone. Mine equals around thirty. I could lead both and outnumber them two to one, and that is without the other five armies of the Great Houses, or whatever I could amass from the Crownlands. My husband will soon be in command of forty five, and his brother could field the four of us together, with our five armies, could raise a force of, at the very least, one hundred and seventy five thousand." He narrowed his eyes, studying her carefully.

He probably assumed that when she referred to the 'four of them' she was including Tywin, but she wasn't. As far as she was concerned, Jaime would be the one leading the Lannister army into battle. She didn't trust Tywin any more than her father did, but Jaime was different. Jaime would never betray her.

"Which is the larger number - five or one?" He asked carefully, and she thought long and hard on what he was asking, going back over her response before straightening. She set her goblet down on his desk before returning to her previous position.

"One," she answered simply, knowing her response would confuse some of the men behind her, but knowing she was correct. He wasn't asking which number was the larger, but which had the most might. A unified army was even that much stronger compared to an army of greater numbers but varying allegiances.

"Five," he held up his left hand with his palm exposed, and before he'd held up his other, she knew she'd read him right. It wasn't about the number of armies, it was about might and purpose. "One," he held his right up in a closed fist as he allowed his left to fall back to his side. "One army - a real army - united behind one leader with one purpose." He shook his head before refilling his goblet of wine. It was then she realized Lancel was not attending him. Perhaps Robert knew as well as she that Lancel was undoubtedly her mother's spy and had dismissed him before she'd arrived.

"Our purpose died with the Mad King," he mumbled in disgust as he sank into his chair, and she did the same in her own, never taking her attention off him. "No we have as many armies as men with gold in their purse. Ass licking and money grubbing, that's all the Realm is now." He went silent for several moments, nursing his wine before he spoke once more. "Maybe if a great unifier appeared - Aegon reborn - who could rally the Realm and bring us all together, truly unify us, for the first time in our history." She looked down, fiddling with her necklace as it hung from her neck absently.

Even Aegon's conquering of Westeros had been by fire and blood, none of it had been through pretty words or promises of kinship. The Field of Fire came to mind - a fierce battle where all of Aegon and his sister wives' dragons, Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar took to the skies for the first and only time in combat together - and slaughtered thousands of Lannister and Gardener forces who had allied in order to stave off the Targaryen invasion. After the battle, House Gardener was no more, and the Tyrells took their place as the Great House of the Reach. Her own ancestor, King Loren I Lannister, became the last King of the Rock when he bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen and became Warden of the West.

"I believe it to be you, Davina." She glanced up abruptly, her necklace falling back against her throat at his words in surprise. "You have the blood of three of the greatest dynasties to have ever existed flowing through your veins." He wasn't wrong. If he was in fact her father, she had Lannister, Baratheon, and Targaryen blood - all of which had been Kings in their respective regions before Aegon's Conquest, and one had continued to be such for nearly three centuries afterward. "And your son shall have Stark blood as well. He will be the culmination of four different royal lines. What better time to strike than now?"

"Strike?" she asked, her brows furrowing at this escalation in their conversation. One moment he was talking of lineage and the next of attacking? She eyed his cup warily, wondering how many he'd downed before she'd arrived. He didn't look to be as deep in his cups as he normally was when he began to speak erratically, so it couldn't be the drink. Robert had to be serious, and that sent a chill up and down her spine.

"The Targaryens have never been weaker than they are in this moment in time. My spies tell me the girl's horse lord husband is in no rush to head our way, despite her urgings and her brother's impatience. Now's the time to attack. If they push back, if there are wars, we will win." She narrowed her eyes, studying him.

"You hate them," she surmised. His distaste was well known, but she'd never seen such a degree of unadulterated aversion in his ice blue eyes before.

"The Targaryens tore into my country and spilled Baratheon blood in order to take what did not belong to them. That bastard Aegon conquered us simply because he wished to be the only King, and the only reason he was able to do so was because of those fucking dragons. He was like a covetous child. Nearly three hundred years later, his honorless descendant destroyed the woman I loved." At the mention of Lyanna, she swore she could unshed tears brimming in the corners of his eyes. "He saw her, he wanted her, so he took her. Just as Aegon and his bloody conquest." He stood then, and she did as well.

"Yes," he said finally. "I hate them. And I nearly took everything they stole from us back...You can finish what I started. Drive them into oblivion until they are as fictitious as the beasts on their banners." He knelt before her, and her heart skipped a beat as she slowly realized what was taking place.

"All hail Davina of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, First of Her Name, Rightful Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Bold, the Undying, the Great Unifier." As he spoke, the kingsguard all fell to their knees as well, pledging their loyalty and fealty to her in the process.

"Long may she reign!" Robert bellowed, and the men behind her echoed the sentiment, and of them, she heard Jaime's voice as clear as day, as pride-filled as ever, and despite everything, she felt as if her knees wished to buckle under the pressure that settled on her shoulders in that moment. At her sides, her hands trembled almost violently, and she hid the tremors by laying them both atop her belly, cradling her child, her heir...the future King, just as Maggy had predicted.

 _"And...shall I be Queen?"_ she heard her previous words to the witch echo about her head as if she'd uttered them once more.

 _"Aye, for a mere moment and a lifetime."_

She was so engrossed in her memories of Maggy's words that she didn't realize Robert had stood until he'd reached out and taken one of her smaller hands in both his larger, meatier ones.

"Do not allow fear to keep you from greatness, Davina. This is your destiny." As soon as the words had passed his lips, he'd retreated back to his wine, and within a few moments, she'd fled the room, needing to be free of her father and his suffocating expectations. Not only did he expect her to unite the Seven Kingdoms, truly, for the first time in their history, but he intended for her to wipe out an entire dynasty in one fell swoop. Granted, there were few obstacles standing in her way, but the Targaryens had proven time and time again they were survivors.

They'd survived the Doom, risen to power here, and then the last two of their kind had escaped back to the continent of their heritage. Who was to stay they wouldn't survive her efforts as well and come for she and Kol's family? An image of she and Kol's heads on spikes, and five other smaller ones - of varying red, golden, and dark shades - between them came to the forefront of her mind, and along with that an image of a silver haired woman with cold amethyst eyes sitting atop the Iron Throne, with the bodies of so many of her loved ones at her feet.

She stumbled the same moment her knees gave out, and had an arm not deftly wrapped itself around her waist, she would've collapsed face first onto the cold stone of the Red Keep. Jaime yelled her name just before catching her, no doubt having followed her from Robert's chambers almost as swiftly as she'd departed them, and helped steady her on her feet.

She gripped his forearms like a lifeline, knowing he was the only thing keeping her standing, and he must've sensed her unsteadiness, for her didn't loosen his grip on her. She blinked a few times as her vision swam, nearly jumping as she felt Jaime cup the back of her neck and tilt her head up, forcing their eyes to meet, emerald with emerald, and the worry in his was clear.

"Do I need to fetch-" she shook her head, stopping him before he suggested anything was wrong with her child that required Pycelle's oversight.

"No," she said, though she couldn't make her voice any louder than a raspy whisper, wincing as the tremble in it was far too evident. It would be a miracle for him not to feel the slight tremors running through her, even as he held her. She bit her bottom lip as that threatened to begin shaking as well. Finally, she swallowed thickly.

"Just send Mother to our special place. She'll know where," she murmured, trying to hold back tears. If anyone could understand and help her decipher what she was feeling, it was Cersei. As much as Jaime cared for her, his twin was the only one who could possibly relate.

* * *

Myrcella followed her dark haired friend as they crept down one of the halls of the Red Keep in the waning mid-afternoon light. Syrio Forel, Arya's water dancing teacher, had sent them on a mission to catch cats that day in favor of a sparring match. Though disappointed, Myrcella had jumped at the chance to explore the Red Keep with Arya. The two hadn't seen much of each other following the incident with the wolves on the Kingsroad, and Myrcella had missed her dearly.

On their journey home, they'd spent nearly every waking moment in each other's company, but as soon as Joff had been bitten, Cersei had forbid any interaction between them. Then, Myrcella had played to dutiful daughter, bowing her head and blinking back tears when her mother had told her she was to never play with the youngest Stark girl again, but that wasn't who she was any more. Never again would she sit back and allow someone else to dictate her life. Her sister had inspired her greatly over the past few moons to control her own destiny simply by doing so herself, and she loved her all the more for it.

Davina had planned on watching their lesson that afternoon as well, but in the middle of breaking their fast that morning, Robert's squire had informed Davina that the King requested an audience with her at her earliest convenience. She understood the immense pressures Davina was under on a daily basis, and she couldn't even begin to fathom how her sister handled it all with such grace, poise, and strength.

While she hadn't been in attendance when Davina had asked for a reconsideration in the line of succession, she'd heard much about it from many, most of which admired her bravery in broaching such a topic so publicly. Myrcella wasn't surprised at all, however. She'd always known her sister was meant to do something extraordinary with her life, and being named the first true queen by right certainly fit with Myrcella's vision of Davina's legacy.

Sometimes, she'd catch herself feeling as though she was standing in her sister's shadow - a shadow that was growing taller and more impressive by the hour. It would be too easy to get lost in, to fade back into the background, but she'd decided to be independent, to be her own savior, not too long ago. Just as her sister and mother before her, she would not be weak. She would bow to no man, not even to Robert Baratheon, her father in name only. She wasn't a timid doe as so many believed - the golden stag, they called her - but a lioness every bit as fierce as her sister and lady mother, and she was determined to show the world her true colors. Her banner might be black and gold, but if she were to be cut open, it would be crimson, not black, that would accompany the gold.

"We're not gonna hurt you," Arya murmured as they closed in on their prey - a small black and grey tabby. The cat meowed once, as if responding to Arya's words.

"Promise," she herself reassured just as Arya reached out in order to grab the kitten, only to have it slip through her fingers and dart back down the hall, the way they'd come. Arya was slightly quicker to give chase than Myrcella was, having been used to running about the yard at Winterfell unfettered by Septa Mordane, who preferred to watch Sansa knit than keep Arya in check more often than not, but Myrcella was no slouch. In the weeks she'd been training with Jaime, she'd taken to do many unladylike things, and running to and fro had been one of them.

Jaime made her run back and forth across the gardens at least once a lesson, telling her she needed to be used to such movement should she find utilizing her speed and agility necessary. Having hardly ever ran in such a way as a child, she'd found it difficult at first, but now, keeping pace with Arya was almost as easy as breathing.

As they raced down the hall together, giving chase, she thanked the seven once more for the gift of Davina's old sparring clothes. She wouldn't be able to keep up with Arya in one of her pretty dresses of Myrish lace and Dornish silk, but the boots, tunic, and breeches made running so painstakingly simple. She had to admit, she'd been uncomfortable the first few times she'd worn the outfit, but now she found it preferable.

They both rounded a corner and descended down a winding flight of stairs, following it deeper into the bowels of the Red Keep where torches were lit as artificial light. Septa Eglantine never let her venture the catacombs underneath the castle - remnants of the Dragons who'd ruled before Robert were littered all over - but it still took her by surprise as she and Arya happened upon a massive dragon skull.

Before the Rebellion, she'd heard they'd decorated the throne room of the Red Keep, but once Robert had killed Rhaegar and taken the throne, he'd had them all moved out of sight. Rumor had it there had been nineteen in all, Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys' being the largest of all. As she and Arya both approached the one before them, she wondered if this had been Balerion, Vhagar, or Meraxes.

 _"He's found one bastard already. He has the book. The rest will come."_ A man's voice coming down a nearby cavern caused them both to jump, and upon realizing whomever it belonged to was rapidly closing in on them, Arya grasped the sleeve of Myrcella's tunic and pulled her into the dragon's mouth.

 _"And when he knows the truth what will he do?"_ A second voice inquired as Arya dragged her to the back of the dragon's float and pulled her down to the ground beside her, both silently pressing back into the shadows so as to not be seen.

 _"The gods alone know. The fools tried to kill his son. What's worse - they botched it. The Wolf and the Lion will be at each other's throats. We'll be at war soon my friend."_ The first voice was accompanied by the sound of a gate closing and then a key turning in a lock, and the girls curled around each other.

 _"What good is war now? We're not ready. If one Hand can die, why not a second?"_ the second argued back, and Myrcella couldn't help but wonder if they were referring to she and Arya's fathers - Ned and Jaime, not Ned and Robert - their mothers, or even House Stark and House Lannister.

 _"This Hand is not the other."_

 _"We need time. Khal Drogo will not make his move until his son is born. You know how these savages are."_ The mention of Khal Drogo caused Myrcella to freeze and lean the slightest bit closer.

 _"Delay, you say? Move fast, I reply. This is no longer a game for two players."_ The first voice responded as they began to fade away and grow fainter.

 _"It never was."_ As the owners of the voices ventured out of eyesight, Arya took the opportunity to grasp her golden haired friend by the sleeve before pulling her out of the dragon skull and make for the wrought iron gate the two voices had just departed from. Both shared a panicked glance as they found it to be locked before glancing about frantically, searching for an alternate escape route.

Finally, 'Cella was the one to tug on Arya's sleeve this time, dragging her down a flight of stairs, deeper into the catacombs of the Red Keep.

* * *

Nearly three hours later, Arya and Myrcella arrived back the the gates to the Keep. The tunnels they'd taken had led out to the shore close to the muddy gate, and while Myrcella had been slightly lost as to how to get back to her home, Arya had taken matters into her own hands and had become navigator.

As they approached two of the palace guards, one of them scowled at the two girls and stepped out into their path, blocking their way.

"Off with you. No begging."

"We're not beggars We live here," Arya responded honestly, though Myrcella could see why the guards believed that. They were both covered in dirt and grime, the likes of which she'd never seen before. Her mother would keel over from embarrassment if she could see how dull and dirty Myrcella's normally golden curls were.

"Do you want a smack on your ear to help with your hearing?"

"I want to see my father," Arya demanded more forcefully this time, giving up trying to be somewhat respectful. Myrcella was surprised she'd even tried to begin with.

"I wanna fuck the Queen for all the good it does me," the other replied with a laugh, and the blonde found herself scowling at the man as he said such things about her mother, whom he was supposed to serve. They both shared a chuckle before the first turned his nose up at them again.

"You want to see your father? He's lying on the floor of some tavern, getting pissed on by his friends."

"My father is Hand of the King! I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell, and if you lay a hand on me, my father will have both your heads on spikes. Now, are you going to let me by, or do I need to smack you on the ear to help with your hearing?" she asked authoritatively. The guards shared a look before the begrudgingly stepped aside.

Arya moved to brush by them, but Myrcella stayed behind, taking a step closer to the two men instead.

"Myrcie?" her friend asked hesitantly, wondering why she wasn't eagerly trying to race her back to one of their chambers so that they might clean up before anyone found out they'd been gone.

"What is your name?" she asked the second one - the one who'd spoken inappropriately of Cersei. The two shared looks before Myrcella shrugged. "Fine. I'll just tell my mother, the Queen, what you said. Perhaps your heads might end up on spikes after all," she muttered carelessly before lifting her chin and straightening her back as she'd seen both her sister and mother do often.

She left them without another word, but based off Arya's laughter as they walked away, she could only guess how wide eyed and slack jawed they were.

"Seven hells," Arya wheezed between giggles that proved infectious as Myrcella found herself joining in. "I think the idiot pissed himself. If you could've only seen his face..." Arya's voice faded away as Myrcella caught sight of Davina as she hastily made her way across the yard and mounted Rose quickly and efficiently before kicking her flanks hard, sending Rose into a canter as she rode through the gates of the Red Keep.

"What's gotten into her?" Arya wondered aloud as Myrcella shook her head with a deep frown marring her beautiful features.

"I'm not sure," she replied worriedly.

* * *

She fled to an outcropping of cliffs overlooking the sea, out of sight of the Red Keep and any prying eyes, and only then did the tears stream from her eyes freely.

Almost as long as she could remember, she'd dreamt and longed for Robert to tell her those words, to officially name her as his heir apparent and successor, so fervently that it'd irreversibly become a part of her character. The desire to sit on that throne was as much a part of who she was as Kol, Jaime, and Myrcella were, and up until today, she had fought for it, clawed for every moment of attention from Robert she could garner, always plotting and planning on how to steal it all away from Joffrey, but now that she finally had it, she found she was unsure if she actually wanted it.

Her thoughts turned to the Targaryen siblings across the Narrow Sea, and the Dothraki khalasar at their backs. Viserys was no longer a problem - she'd seen to that personally - but his sister was another matter entirely. If she was anything at all like her brother, she wouldn't stop until she had taken everything that had once belonged to her family back, and if she had to go through Davina, Kol, and the rest of them, she'd do it.

This could very likely end with she and Kol's execution - others like Ned Stark and even her own mother might not see it as a possibility, but she knew their hold on the Seven Kingdoms wasn't a firm or tight as they liked to believe. The Baratheon dynasty was like a tower constructed of lazily laid, poorly mixed mortar. All it took was one wrong move, one slip up, and the whole thing could crumble around them.

Before, when it'd just been her, she was willing to face the risks head on, seeing it as more of a challenge than something to fear, but she wasn't alone any longer. She had a husband - a husband she would give her own life for - and now they had a son, her son, her heir.

She couldn't afford to put her son in such dire circumstances, because even though she had not yet held him, she would do anything to keep him from harm. She would say whatever was necessary, do anything possible to protect him, even go as far as battle a dragon weaponless if it meant his safety.

Daenerys Targaryen would come, if not during her reign, then certainly during his, and it could cost them everything. She wasn't sure if she was ready to face that reality as a probability, but she couldn't not think of it. It had been all she'd been able to think since Robert had named her the next - and first true - Queen.

She heard her mother dismount her horse without having to turn around, and she felt the tears burn the backs of her eyes once more like wildfire. Surely Jaime had already told his sister that her - though he had probably quietly declared her as their - daughter would sit the Iron Throne per the King's decision when he'd gone to deliver her message.

Vacantly, she wondered whether her mother had frowned, cried, or battled him at the news. Certainly she hadn't smiled, not when Davina had truly stolen Joffrey's birthright. She glanced back over her shoulder as her mother approached, and their eyes met for a moment before Davina quickly turned back around, knowing Cersei had seen the tears brimming in her emerald eyes but finding herself unwilling to admit any weakness on her part.

"If you are having second thoughts, surely your father would reconsider if you asked it of him."

Davina narrowed her eyes at her mother's words and turned away from the sea in order to properly look her in the eyes defiantly.

"You don't think I can do it," she said in realization. "You claim to have seen the potential for greatness in me since the first moment you laid eyes on me, yet you don't believe I have what it takes to be Queen."

"Darling, it is not that I doubt your ability. All I ask is you consider the danger you are putting yourself, your child, and your husband in by pursuing this to the end." Davina knew this to be a lie. Her mother worried that, once she was Queen, she'd name Eddard Stark as her Hand and not only would she allow him to try her for adultery and falsehood, but also place the blame of Bran's disfigurement solely on she and Jaime's shoulders. She wasn't begging her to renounce her claim for the sake of herself, her husband, or her son out of motherly love - she was doing so out of self-preservation, out of fear of the unknown.

"You don't have to fear him anymore," she said in understanding, realizing this was not only a fear of the unknown, but a fear that, should Davina succeed him, Robert's presence would continue to haunt her like a spectre for the rest of her life. "He's taken far more than he's given from you, from me, from everyone in the Seven Kingdoms. Mother, Robert has had his turn, and it is quickly reaching it's conclusion." She stepped forward and took her mother's hands between her own, desperately needing her to hear and comprehend the gravity what she was about to ask of her.

"Three years ago, you sent me away in order for me to gain control of my magic, and I did. You trusted me then." Her green eyes narrowed on Cersei's identical ones searchingly.

"That was different-" Cersei went to pull away out of denial, but Davina held firm and shook her head, refusing to let her finish.

"No, it wasn't. We have always protected each other, to the best of our abilities. When you told me you would never support my claim, I was furious, but now? I understand why you told me that. You will always protect me, no matter what...even if I hate you for it for a short while.," she said with a teary smile. "You deserve to be free of him. We all do. And that time is rapidly approaching...but Mother," she felt tears sting the backs of her eyes as that same uncertainty she'd felt when leaving the King's chambers wormed their way back into her gut.

The only way she could gain Cersei's trust, approval, and support was to appeal to the inherent motherly instincts she possessed, and in order to do so, she had to allow her to see the doubt, fear, and uncertainty that constantly clouded her mind - feelings she hid from everyone, including Kol.

"I'm not as fearless as I lead everyone to believe," she admitted quietly, biting her lip at the admission. "I'm terrified," the admission was no more than a whisper, but she didn't think she was able to force herself to confess to her own insecurities any louder than that, and only to Cersei. Never anyone but her mother. "A-and you're the only one who understands what it is to be Queen. I need you to teach me all you know. Guide me, as only you can," she implored as tears ran down her cheeks, the salty air stinging her eyes.

An understanding flickered her Cersei's emerald eyes as Davina laid herself bare before her for the first time since her flowering. The future of their relationship hung between them, and Cersei could either accept it and embark with her on this new journey, or she could turn around and walk away, severing ties with her eldest for all time.

"Are we in this together?" she asked rhetorically, not waiting for an answer before plowing on. "Because, if so, I can do it," she claimed firmly, blinking back the tears and willing her voice to take on an iron-like quality. "No doubts, no hesitation, I can do it. You raised me to be strong. All I need is for you to be with me."

She waited there, just out of arm's reach for what seemed like hours, before Cersei blinked back tears of her own before enveloping her in her arms. Davina went willingly, knowing before the words passed her lips what the embrace meant.

"My special, brave girl," her mother murmured quietly before placing a kiss on her forehead. The action made Davina grip her a little more fiercely, clinging to her as if she were still a child, not a woman grown with her belly rounding with child. "Always," she vowed. "I would do anything for you, my Davina. I would burn cities to the ground. Anything to keep you from harm." Despite herself, a smile curled her lips without her permission, and tears stung her eyes anew.

"I know," she whispered.

"No, you don't," her mother replied back, equally as quiet. "You can't possibly. You won't fully understand until your child is born. You are all that matters - you, your brothers, and your sister - from the moment you came into this world." In that moment, she was tempted to tell her Gendry still lived, that she hadn't lost him to fever, that perhaps for some reason he'd been swapped out for a sickly child that'd died in his stead, but the words wouldn't come.

She remained silent.

* * *

She and Kol stared out across the Bay from their balcony that night under the light of a full moon. She'd spent the past half hour recounting all Robert had said and all her mother had promised to him as he'd listened intently, never interrupting or interfering in her retelling.

"I heard him true. For all I know, Daenerys is already dead, along with the son she carries, and Viserys will soon follow thanks to my intervening."

"So what if the Targaryen girl dies? She is your rival, Davina, you must see that. If she is anything like Aegon - which, believe me, I have seen she shall be - she will come for us. Better to smother her ideals and influence in the cradle with the rest of her before they have a chance to grow and fester."

"Kol, if Robert is my father, then Daenerys is my second cousin. She and I share the same blood." He shook his head.

"No, you share Targaryen blood. She is nowhere near as extraordinary as you are...she can't be." Davina smiled despite herself before shaking her head.

"What if Robert's assassination plot succeeds and she dies? Who's to say her husband still won't rally his people and come after us seeking revenge? The Dothraki are firm believers in justice. If Daenerys and his son dies, Khal Drogo will simply come after me and ours. It would only be fair. Robert must know that. He'd be a fool not to..." she trailed off, coming to a startling realization of her father's motives. What if, the only reason he placed her ahead of Joff in the line of succession, was to ensure Joff would go unharmed should an invasion take place.

He knew she'd give her life for her country - she'd said so herself many a time. Who was to say he wasn't expecting that outcome and placed her in the line of fire, hoping she would take their Targaryen foes down with her, paving the way for her mother's golden son?

"I'm just a pawn, aren't I?" she asked after a few moments of prolonged silence, looking away from the waves in order to meet her husband's eyes. "Even if I myself fell defending the Seven Kingdoms from the Dothraki, they'd just replace me with Joffrey." He seemed to mull over this possibility for several moments before nodding hesitantly.

"Nearly every lord I know of would certainly prefer a man on the Iron Throne. It is possible." He stood and approached her, taking her hands in his own. "The only question remaining is what shall you do about it? This is the King we are speaking of. You can't simply abdicate and walk away, no matter how much you want to. Not after how fiercely you've fought for this outcome." He was right, she knew he was, and it made tears burn the backs of her eyes like wildfire.

It turned out getting what she'd wanted for years had only served to wedge her between the stag and the dragon once more, with no way out. If she wasn't careful, she would likely be the greatest casualty of the wars to come, just as Lyanna had been.

She was as useful as a caged lioness.

* * *

 _She was running through a forest in the light of a blood moon, the creature hot on her heels. Davina pushed herself harder, ignoring how rocks and thorns cut into the bottoms of her feet as she ran, screaming for Jaime, Kol, or her mother. The creature howled, something between a roar and a screech, unlike anything she'd ever heard before, the sound sending chills racing up and down her spine._

 _She quickened her pace to a full out sprint as she ducked into a thicket, and when she emerged out the other side, she was no longer surrounded by trees, but stone. Stone everywhere - from floor to ceiling - with tapestries covering the walls, and with a start, she realized she was in the Red Keep. She paused momentarily out of shock, wondering how she'd gotten there, before the sound of rustling branches and low growls grew closer, and she took off once more._

 _She ducked around corners and down corridors, trying to confuse the beast and evade it, but no matter how she maneuvered, it was always following her, just out of sight, but close enough she swore she could feel it's breath on the back of her neck._

 _She entered the throne room, having passed through the Small Council chambers, racing past the throne itself and down the steps. Her foot caught on something large, solid, and cold, sending her tumbling to the ground hard, the breath rushing from her lungs in the process. As she shakily tried to regain her bearings whilst gasping for breath, she looked back to see what she'd tripped over, finding the rotting corpse of a stag lying at the foot of the steps._

 _Dried blood coated the stone around it, it's middle ripped open and it's entrails spilling out grotesquely all over the floor, flies clinging to and buzzing all around it. She yelped, sliding backwards, only to have her hand land in a thick, warm liquid behind her. Whirling, she found the body of a massive wolf, practically as large as a pony, with what looked to be an antler skewered through its throat._

 _Blood from the direwolf seeped between her fingers, and she glanced back and forth between the wolf and the stag in confusion before she heard the beast growl, and her eyes darted up to where it stood in the shadows beside the Iron Throne, it's eyes glowing an eerie yellow in the darkness._

 _Scrambling to her feet, she jumped over the dead direwolf as she made for the doors, hearing the beast moving to follow, chancing a glance over her shoulder, she saw as it entered into the light, and the hulking beast transformed before her very eyes into Joffrey's form, coated head to toe in crimson, his green, cat-like eyes flashing dangerously._

 _She screamed for Jaime, for he had been her salvation the last time Joffrey had chased her, but all her pleas for their father to save her were met with silence. Knowing her only hope was to evade him, she made for the doors, only to find they were locked from the outside, trapping her with him. She tried beating on them, hopelessly trying to find a way out, ultimately finding no escape._

 _When she looked back over her shoulder, it was no longer Joffrey pursuing her, but Jaime. Only, it couldn't be Jaime. The eyes were Joff's eyes, almost as if Joffrey had taken over Jaime's body. At the sight, she turned back around and pounded on the massive doors harder, desperate to get away. Joffrey, Jaime, whatever it was, was far too close to her now for any other escape to be possible._

 _She felt it grasp her just above the elbow with punishing, bruising force, and spun her around with enough power to make her head spin. Whatever sight she was expecting to see, it certainly wasn't her mother, hair sheared close to her scalp, fangs protruding from her mouth and an eerie green light practically glowing in her eyes._

 _Davina tried to fight as Cersei grasped her by the back of her neck and jerked her head to the side, exposing her throat, but it was no use. Her own strength paled miserably in comparison._

 _As she felt the sharpened, twin points slid into her flesh like a knife through butter, she released a blood curdling scream._

 ** _Beware her._**

"Davina!"

She came to, still halfway struggling in Kol's arms as he pinned her to their bed, no doubt trying to prevent her from harming herself or the child she carried inside her. As she regained her senses, slowly realizing she had been dreaming, the fight went out of her, and she went limp, no longer fighting Kol's grip on her wrists.

Once he realized she was awake, he hesitantly released her, sitting back just out of reach and wiping a hand down his face in relief. It took several minutes, but eventually her breathing slowed, and she carefully sat up, raking a hand back through her loose waves as she tried to rationalize what she'd just experienced, but found she couldn't.

"What-"

"I think you saw something," he said before she could even finish. "I mean, saw something like I see things. Your eyes were open, but they were white like newly fallen snow. I think our son has inherited my gift and he just had his first vision." She looked down at the swell of her stomach numbly before her hand slid over where their child was moving, being much more active than he ever had before. If he had seen the same... she felt a profound sadness rush through her at the thought.

"It was chasing me," she said in explanation. "And there was a dead stag and direwolf as well." This seemed to get Kol's attention, for he froze momentarily before shaking his head.

"You can describe it to me in great detail later, we've been summoned by the King." He stood and walked over to her chests before digging a dress out of one and bring it over to her. It seemed she'd been asleep when he'd received the summons and had readied himself before moving to wake her.

"What? Why?" she asked in confusion, feeling a sinking feeling settling in her stomach. He helped her to her feet and into her dress before beginning to do up the laces. He'd watched her handmaidens do it in the early days of their marriage, and by the second moon, he'd taken over the task from them.

"It appears Jaime thought it was a brilliant idea to engage my father in a duel outside one of Baelish's brothels, which ended in Jaime fleeing the city and my father with a spear through his thigh." It took her a moment, but as his words repeated in her head over and over, she turned around to meet his eyes, finding her was completely serious, causing her eyebrows to raise in incredulity.

"He _what?!_ "

* * *

They were arguing - her mother and his father. Bickering like a cat and dog, hurling accusations at one another without pausing for breath. Jaime had in fact committed the crimes Kol had informed her of, and it had left his father bedridden, almost as crippled as Bran, though Ned would recover from his wounds in time.

Davina shot a nervous, helpless glance to her husband at his father's next words. "Jaime has fled the city. Give me leave to bring him back to justice." Kol silently reached down and interlaced their fingers, offering her the subtlest, yet still most tangible display of support he could offer in that moment. She tightened her grip, imagining herself as a wandering ship in a storm, and he her anchor, tethering her in place.

Robert seemed to contemplate Ned's request for several quiet, tension filled moments before her mother decided to make her presence known once more.

"I took you for a king," she said angrily. Davina wished she would stay silent, just this once. Though Catelyn acted out of turn by taking Tyrion, there was no excuse for seeking retribution on Jaime's part. If he had simply waited just a bit longer, she would've made everything right. If only he wasn't so damn impulsive. She loved Jaime unlike almost anyone that walked the earth, but she loathed his tendency to swing first and ask questions later.

"Hold your tongue!" Robert commanded, but Davina knew his bellowing would only serve to rile Cersei up even further. This was always how their screaming matches began, or at least, it had been when she was a girl. After the birth of Tommen, the two had been less and less obligated to spend time with one another behind closed doors, and Davina was glad for it. They hadn't come to physical blows in years.

"He's attacked one of my brothers and abducted the other," she claimed. The glare she directed at Ned could've frightened many a man. A dangerous glint appeared in her emerald eyes then, and she turned them on Robert. "I should wear the armor, and you the gown."

The back of his hand met her cheek with an awful, resounding thwack, and sent her mother stumbling backwards into the table behind her, the force of the king's blow nearly sending her to the ground in the process. Davina jumped at the sound and all those times she'd witnessed Robert's abuse came back to her with startling clarity - backhanded, open handed, closed fisted - he'd struck her any way imaginable when he'd thought she wasn't near.

She shrunk back against Kol as the memory of the last time she'd seen him physically strike her jumped to the forefront of her mind.

It had been a few weeks after Tommen had been born. She'd been on her way to ask her mother something - for the life of her, she couldn't remember what it'd been - and as she'd approached her mother's chambers, she'd heard yelling. Recognizing her father's voice, she'd crept closer, placing her ear against the door in order to hear better.

 _"I have given you four already. Four is enough. Queens do not have litters as other women do up North. Tommen is the last!"_

There had been screaming afterwards, and things thrown, furniture overturned, and finally, the sound of a blow and a body hitting the floor and Davina had turned and fled with tears in her eyes, her mother's screams of defiance echoing in her memory for long after she'd exited the Keep and entered it's gardens.

 _It is a Queen's duty to create heirs, and a King's right to seek pleasure whenever he sees fit. You are never to deny him either._ Her septa's words rang about her head as she finally sought shelter underneath the low branches of a willow. Drawing her knees to her chest, she closed her eyes tightly as she realized, at least fundamentally, what was happening to her mother in that moment, and she couldn't help but think the gods wicked for viewing such an abhorrent act as justifiable.

It wasn't until the sun had begun to wane later that afternoon that she was finally discovered. She heard the rustling of leaves as the branches were pushed aside, and she tensed, bracing herself for Septa Eglantine's lecture, only to have a large, warm, soft, yet calloused hand wrap itself around her shoulder. She knew it was Jaime instantly, and as he lowered himself down beside her, she buried her face in his chest, releasing a few sobs.

 _"Jaime, I need you to kill him, please...for hurting Mother again and again,"_ she'd begged, her voice breaking on every other word. She felt Jaime go still before he gently pried her away from his chest and tilted her chin up so their eyes met. "Please, Uncle Jaime, you have to," she whimpered before burrowing into his embrace once more.

Later, after Jaime had calmed her down and taken her to Cersei's chambers, she'd found her mother lying in her bed, the sheets no longer the gold she was used to but simple white, her cheek stained black and blue. Holding back her tears, she'd carefully crawled into bed with her and offered her the only comfort she'd been able to give in the form of a hug, quietly vowing, both to herself and Cersei, that the next time Robert laid a finger on her, Davina would kill him herself.

Now, she watched with wide eyes as her mother straightened,eyes swinging to meet Robert's defiantly, her cheek already an angry red Davina knew would darken in a few hours time, and remain for days - possibly even weeks - to come.

"I shall wear this like a badge of honor." The King took a step closer, and Davina silently braced herself for yet another blow, but thankfully all he did was glare daggers at his wife and queen.

"Wear it in silence or I'll honor you again," he threatened. Davina held her breath in anticipation of her mother's next move, praying to whichever gods would listen she would bow out, just this once. Thankfully, she did just that, but not before meeting Davina's eyes, as if expecting her to do something, as she had promised so many years before, but no matter how fervently Davina wished and desired to seek justice for her mother's years of suffering, she found herself frozen in place, quivering in fear as she had all those years before.

Once her mother came to the realization she would not follow through with her vow, she scowled, the look of disappointment anger in her eyes making Davina feel terribly guilty, before fleeing from the room. Davina let out a shaky breath at the sound of the door closing - almost symbolic of Cersei closing herself off to her once more - before an unsettling hollow feeling took root inside her chest.

Before she could even comprehend what she was doing, she'd gone after Cersei, almost having to run to catch her. She was sure she looked ridiculous - one hand supporting her belly while the other held up her dress, ensuring she wouldn't trip on it - but she could care less.

"Mother!" she called, nearly growling when Cersei acted as though she hadn't heard her. "Mother, wait! I promise we'll get Uncle Jaime and Uncle Tyrion back. Kol will write to his mother and demand Tyrion's release, and I will-"

"You'll do what?" she asked angrily, whirling around to face her just as Davina came within striking distance, and the abrupt change made Davina jump back a few steps as she saw the venom she'd so often seen in Joffrey's eyes directed towards her. "You'll do exactly as you did in there - _nothing,"_ she said coldly with a shake of her head.

"What were you expecting? Regicide?" Davina asked incredulously. "I promised you that when I was _seven!_ I had no idea how complicated or dangerous it would be then, and I'm not about to give up everything I have fought so hard for-"

"For the one who brought you into this world?" Davina wished to argue further, but knowing nothing good would come of it, she bit her tongue hard, so hard that she drew blood. Upon realizing Davina would not engage in yet another battle of wills, Cersei shook her head in disappointment before turning and storming out of sight.

Only then did Davina blink back tears and cover her mouth to hold back a sob. Despite knowing she'd done the right thing by refusing to do as her mother had wished, she still couldn't shake the feeling that she had betrayed her, and Cersei never forgot a betrayal. She would remember it for many days to come, and Davina feared what that meant for their bond, where they would stand politically.

She was fully aware she wasn't ready to take the reins alone, and Kol was even more inexperienced than her. If she had any hope of ruling competently, she needed Cersei on her side, or, at least, someone to advise her. She wouldn't survive her first moon without it.

* * *

"They burned most everything in the Riverlands: our fields, our granaries, our homes. They took our women, then they took 'em again. When they was done, they butchered them as if they was animals. They covered our children in pitch, and lit them on fire," a farmer from the Riverlands claimed, looking down as he was overcome with emotion.

Kol and Davina watched from the sidelines as Ned sat the Iron Throne in Robert's absence - because she while she was most certainly his heir, he had not proclaimed her as such publicly yet - with Littlefinger on one side and Grand Maester Pycelle on the other. Her mother was suspiciously missing, no doubt plotting on how to get Jaime back as soon as possible.

"Brigands, most likely," Pycelle commented.

"They weren't thieves. They didn't steal nothing," he swore, and she saw several of his fellow farmers shake their heads. "They even left some behind, Your Grace."

"It's the King's Hand you're addressing, not the King," Pycelle responded quickly. "The King is hunting." It was true, Robert had left them that same morning in favor of a hunt, leaving Ned in charge until his return. A man came forward carrying a burlap sack and emptied its contents onto the floor. Old, rotting fish came out, and the scent nearly made her stomach turn. She was still prone to sickness because of her pregnancy, and she found she had to cover her nose in order to prevent herself from emptying her last meal onto the floor of the throne room.

"Fish - the Sigil of House Tully," Baelish observed for the less educated commoners in attendance before leaning in closer to Ned and whispering something to him that she couldn't quite make out.

"These men, were they flying a Sigil?" Ned asked, and when the farmer looked perplexed, he asked if there had been any recognizable banner.

"None, your... Hand. The one who was leading them... Taller by a foot than any man I've ever met, saw him cut the blacksmith in two, saw him take the head off a horse with a single swing of his sword." The hand that was not covering her nose came up to protectively span her belly as she remembered watching the Mountain behead his own horse after Ser Loras had unseated him in the Tourney of the Hand some weeks earlier. He would've killed Loras too had it not been for his younger brother, the Hound.

"You're describing Ser Gregor Clegane," Ned proclaimed hesitantly.

"Why would Ser Gregor turn brigand? The man is an anointed knight," Pycelle offered easily, willing to give the monstrous man the benefit of the doubt, but that didn't surprise her. He'd always kissed House Lannister's ass for as long as she could remember.

"I've heard him been called 'Tywin Lannister's Mad Dog'. I'm sure you have as well," Baelish retorted before leaning closer and whispering to Ned once more.

"If the Lannisters were to order attack on villages under the King's protection... it would be-"

"That would be almost as brazen as attacking the Hand of the King in the streets of the capital," Baelish interjected before Pycelle could finish, and the allusion to Jaime's crime had Davina narrowing her eyes at the entire ordeal. She would bring Jaime to justice for what he'd done. He would be punished severely, but he would not meet Ser Ilyn for it. She loved him too dearly to part with him over something so impulsively idiotic.

Pycelle had no worthy response to Baelish's accusation, merely making a noise of discontent before falling silent once more. Her eyes shifted to her good father, who was silent, seemingly thinking over the situation long and hard before passing any judgement, especially without her father present.

"I cannot give you back your homes or restore your dead to life, but perhaps I can give you justice in the name of our King Robert. Lord Beric Dondarrion." A middle aged man stepped out of the crowd gathered before the Iron Throne at Ned's bidding.

Beric Dondarrion was the Lord of Blackhaven and the Head of House Dondarrion - one of House Baratheon's vassals in the Stormlands. He himself had been the very first to pledge loyalty to her as the new Warden of the East and Head of House Baratheon, proving himself loyal to both her paternal House and the Crown itself. If there was anyone who could be trusted to carry out her father's will, it would be him.

"You shall have the command. Assemble one hundred men and ride to Sir Gregor's Keep."

"As you command." Ned then stood to his feet shakily, still getting use to the cane no doubt, and she could tell it took everything in her husband not to go to his father in that moment. She knew he'd always viewed him as invincible and godlike, so too see him at perhaps his weakest in decades had shaken Kol to his core.

"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I charge you to bring the King's justice to the false knight, Gregor Clegane, and all those who shared in his crimes. I denounce him, and attaint him. I strip him of all ranks and titles, of all lands and holdings, and sentence him to death." The charge was so brutal and uncharacteristic of Ned that a jolt of fear rushed through her, and she grasped onto Kol's hand just as he sought out her's.

"My Lord," Pycelle implored, tremulously pushing himself to his feet in the process. "This...this is a drastic action. It would be better to wait for King Robert's return-"

"Grand Maester Pycelle," Ned cut him off, speaking much louder than in the hushed but still audible tones Pycelle had been using.

"Yes, My Lord." He bowed his head out of respect for his better.

"Send a raven to Casterly Rock. Inform Tywin Lannister he has been summoned to Court to answer for the crimes of his bannermen. He will arrive within a fortnight or be branded an enemy of the Crown, and a traitor to the Realm." Almost as soon as the words had passed her good-father's lips, she had spun on her heel and began making her way back towards she and Kol's chambers with her husband following closely behind her.

While Ned meant well and only sought to hold everyone to the rule of law equally, he'd just made a grave mistake that could plunge the Realm into a civil war. Her grandfather didn't take kindly to threats, and he would view this as a direct attack on their House. Lord Stark would've been smarter to wait on the King's backing of this decree, but he'd made it of his own volition. Not only had he just placed himself in Tywin's line of sight, but the remainder of House Stark as well, including her child.

"I'll pack us each enough clothes and supplies for a fortnight. I'm getting you out of this godforsaken city before your mother lunges for my father's throat and calls for his head," Kol stated firmly, his arm winding around her waist and drawing her protectively against his side even as their pace increased dramatically.

"Where will we go?" she asked, not fighting him in the least, as he had clearly expected her to given the surprised look he shot her way. If it were just them, she would never even consider running, but they had a child to think of now, a child that depended on the both of them to keep him safe. She would gladly board a ship headed to the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea in Essos if it meant her son would survive the womb.

"Kings and Queens do not run," she began as they turned down the hall to her chambers, "but a father and mother would go to the ends of the earth to prevent any ill fate befalling their first born. If running now means we live to see tomorrow, that our son will get to grow into a strong warrior who can take back whatever is stolen from him, then I will do so."

He pulled the large wooden door to their chambers open, ushering her inside quickly and quietly, checking to make sure they hadn't been followed before following her in and throwing the bolt across the door for good measure. She immediately went over to her chests and dug one of her traveling dresses out from the bottom of one. Behind her, she heard Kol shrug out of one of his more Southern looking tunics, and she knew he was replacing it with a simple one of solid white and a leather vest. The less noticeable they were, the better.

"We can either go North to the Eyrie or West to the Riverlands, though I doubt you want to be within fifty miles of the Mountain and your grandfather's bannermen. Once we were safely inside the walls of Riverrun, we'd be untouchable...it's just the matter of getting there that could prove to be tricky." She was in the process of trying to wrestle with the ties of her dress when she felt him come up behind her and gently bat her fumbling fingers away, replacing them with his own. She drew her hair over her shoulder with one hand while her other settled protectively on her stomach.

"I have no desire to ever see the Mountain again," she said vacantly, the gruesome images of him beheading his beautiful black destrier after losing to Loras Tyrell in the tourney flashing before her mind's eye. "Or my grandfather for that matter." He hummed in agreement.

"I confess I've never met Lord Tywin, but not many speak highly of him in regard to anything but his talent for tactics and strategy. My father called him a man without honor once when he wasn't aware I was near, and after all you've told me of your encounters with him, I hope we never cross paths." He finished unlacing her dress and aided her in stepping out of it.

"I wish we could make the journey North," he said after a moment, wrapping his arms across her chest and resting his head atop hers. She covered his hands with hers and leaned back into his embrace willingly. "We would be safe at Winterfell. My mother and Robb would let no harm befall you or our child." When they'd made the journey south, Ned had named Robb as acting Lord of Winterfell and had placed the North in his capable hands.

Kol was right - they would be safest in the North - but it was such a long journey, she balked at making it this far into her pregnancy. They could make it before her time came in just under two moons, but it hadn't been an easy journey before. How much more difficult would it be when her belly was rounded with child?

"I wish so as well. I had always hoped that, if Joffrey became King, you and I would move to Winterfell and raise our children in the place of your birth." That had been before Kol had been named the heir of the Trident, and she of the Stormlands, of course.

"The witch said our son would be King, and I believe every word she told you to be true," he said after a drawn out, prolonged silence. "This is just a storm. It will pass, Davina. After what happened between our blood fathers, everyone is up in arms - thinking about their House first and the repercussions of their actions second - but once they all come to their senses, the fighting will cease, and you and I will rule. You will be the first person in fifty years to deserve to sit that godforsaken thing, and I will be there, at your side, no matter what the future brings."

Despite all his promises and reassurances she so desperately wished she could believe, she couldn't shake the feeling things were going to get far worse before they would ever get better.

* * *

 **A/N: I personally believe Davina's sudden change of heart and fears are entirely justified. Being able to sit on the Small Council for several months has allowed her to see both the Crown and the Seven Kingdoms in a completely different light, and thanks to Maggy's prophecies about she and Cersei, she also knows just how precarious their grip on the Iron Throne is and will be. It's entirely feasible she wouldn't wish to subject her son or any of her other children to such fates. But, she does accept it as a challenge despite now wanting nothing to do with ruling, which is completely in character for her. I know she cries a fair bit in this chapter...it's a combination of all those pregnancy hormones and the stress, I swear she's not turning whiny. *crosses heart***

 **Also, I love writing Cersei/Davina scenes because their relationship to me is so complex and unique. One minute they're supporting and protecting one another and the next they're fighting again. Cersei really does love Davina, I promise - just as much as she loves Joffrey - but she's so hard on her because she sees a lot of herself in her and wants to protect her, even if her methods are shitty sometimes.**

 **(Took inspiration from The Red Door for Davina/her son's shared dream sequence just fyi)**

 **Next, shit hits the fan in King's Landing...y'all aren't ready. (And Marcel makes it to King's Landing just in time for it all to go down)**


End file.
